


it could be

by erzi



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: M/M, slow burn aka i blue ball u for a bunch of chapters and u just sit there and take it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erzi/pseuds/erzi
Summary: Jean turns to face the showerhead, forming a cup with his hands, allowing water to pool in them. He splashes his face. Covers it with his hands.I told him his smile was nice. I really liked holding his arm. And I dreamed about him. I can't get him out of my head, in fact.He uncovers his face and turns off the shower. He steps out, drying himself.I can't have a crush on my only friend,he thinks. The thought alone turns his face pink.But it being a crush, it should go away soon.He hopes, anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeah u read that word count right!
> 
> at the end of acca ps nino quits acca to become a fulltime photographer, and owl quits/leaves his job (i'm still not sure the details) and jean replaces him. this fic follows those developments

Jean doesn't need to look at the caller ID to know who it is. He quickly answers his cellphone with one hand, straightening the last pile of papers on his desk with the other.

"Work held me up, sorry," he says.

"Are you on your way home?" Nino asks on the other end of the line.

"About to leave."

"What's kept you there an hour over?"

Jean stands up and walks to Knot's desk, cradling the stack of paper one-armed. "Paperwork. I feel a little bad for all the trees cut down to keep bureaucracy going. There have to be better ways for them to die."

The phone can't capture the exact timbre and warmth of Nino's laugh, but what Jean hears still makes him smile.

"Make sure you hurry," Nino says. "Otherwise Lotta and I are going to eat everything."

He hears the tinny sound of the phone being shuffled. "The macarons turned out great and I will definitely eat them all if you're not here in twenty minutes!" says Lotta.

He leaves the papers neatly on Knot's desk, smiling politely at him, and heads back to his office. "I'm going," he speaks into the phone, swinging his jacket and briefcase over his shoulder. He pushes his chair into his desk with his knee. "Don't eat my-"

"Sir, wait!" squeals Atori, briskly walking over to him.

"-share. Hold on a moment." He presses the phone to his chest. "What is it?"

"I know you're always very private about your life, which I understand, but you're not seeing anyone right now, are you?"

"Um..." He looks between her and the phone. He lightly places the phone by his ear. "I have to go," he says, and hangs up before he gets a reply. He shifts his weight, uncomfortable. "Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, it's not for me!" Atori says, wildly shaking her hands. "It's just that I have a friend."

"A friend."

"She's pretty, smart, and sweet!" She claps her hands. "Best of all, you two would look super cute together!"

"What makes you say that?"

"Call it a hunch. What do ya say, sir? Just one date?"

Jean had already been looking forward to going home. Now he _really_ wants to leave. He can't without giving Atori an answer, though. He doesn't want to be set up, but he has a feeling Atori is sure to persist if he turns down the offer. He sighs.

"Just one," he says.

"Yay! Thank you so much, sir! Here's her number," she says, and hands him a slip of paper. "Her name's Rita. Sorry to keep you! See you tomorrow!" With a wave, she leaves.

Jean glances at the scribbled number on the paper. "She had it ready," he mumbles to himself.

On the subway ride home, he mulls contacting the woman, tracing the edges of his phone with his finger. _I said I'd meet her_ , he thinks. The prospect doesn't exactly excite him, but he doesn't want to go back on his word. _I can do one date._

Stuck on what tone to use, it takes him a while to think of how to write his message. He's letting out a sigh of relief at having sent her anything at all when she answers:

 _Hi Jean. Atori told me about you too. I'd like to meet. Would Wednesday at 4 be okay?_  

 _I don't think I have plans with Nino then_ , he thinks, trying to recall what his upcoming week looks like. Nothing sticks out besides their usual day devoted to drinks, and that week it'll be on Friday. He tells her – what was her name again? Rita? – that it's fine. He looks at what he typed for a moment and then adds a suggestion for a restaurant, guessing that it was his job as the one who contacted her first. He sends it.

She agrees.

 _I guess that's that_ , he thinks, putting his phone up. Just in time, too; this is his stop. A short walk later, he's inside his building, traveling up the elevator. Soon he's opening his apartment door, the scent of baked sweets enveloping him immediately.

"I'm home," he announces.

"You made it under the twenty minute mark," Lotta says from the kitchen, "so you luckily get to eat what Nino and I made!"

"I'm glad," he says with a smile, closing the door. He puts his jacket and briefcase on a sofa and joins Nino in the dining room, slumping into his chair.

"Someone's tired," Nino says, biting into a macaron.

Jean folds his arms on the table and rests his head on them.

Lotta walks in and puts down his drink and food. "Nino made this, and I was in charge of dessert, as you know."

He sits up. "Thanks."

She leaves for her room.

Jean brings a forkful of the food – some chicken dish – to his mouth. "Tastes as good as it smells."

"Happy to hear," Nino says with a small smile. He reaches for another macaron, eyeing it. "Did something happen at work?"

"Hmm?" Jean swallows his food. "What do you mean? I told you about the paperwork."

"After that." His eyes flit to Jean. "I heard someone talk to you, then you hung up on me."

"Oh. Yeah, sorry about that." Jean purses his lips. "Atori approached me suddenly." He twists his fork back and forth, watching the food get squished. "I have a date with one of her friends."

It takes a few seconds for Nino to speak. "A date?"

"Wednesday at four."

"That's..." Nino puts the macaron down uneaten. "That's nice."

"I guess."

"You guess?"

Jean nods, swallowing another bite of food. "I didn't really want to say yes, but it would have been more trouble if I'd refused. Maybe I'll get along with her," he adds as a halfhearted afterthought.

"Maybe," Nino agrees, although not immediately.

He sips his water. "We'll see." He shifts the topic by asking about Nino's own day, and the easy conviviality they have returns, this conversation one they know.

"Thanks again for cooking," he tells Nino, later, when Nino's at the door about to leave.

"Any time."

"Sometimes I think you and Lotta should open up a restaurant."

Nino raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Where would that leave you?"

"I could wait tables or something."

"I think you'd forget where to deliver what," Nino teases.

Jean crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. "I think so, too."

Nino laughs.

"But I'd try before you fired me."

"I don't know that I'd fire you. I think you'd wash dishes instead."

"I can do that."

"Great, then you're set to work in my hypothetical restaurant."

Jean smiles. "I look forward to it."

Nino returns it. "See you, Jean."

"Bye."

* * *

"Isn't today your date?" Lotta asks him over breakfast.

Jean's toast doesn't make it to his mouth. "Huh. Yeah, it is."

"You forgot?!"

"You reminded me."

"That's not the kind of thing you're supposed to forget, Jean." She quickly eyes him up and down. "Are you coming home after work?"

He frowns. "No, why would I? I get out at three, so I can get to the restaurant I'm supposed to meet her at right after."

"You're going on a date... in your work uniform?"

"Yes?" Jean answers, not knowing what flaw Lotta sees in this.

She sighs heavily. "Don't do that. Come home and change. I'll pick your clothes for you."

"Why can't I go in my work uniform?"

"Because you're meeting someone!"

"I wear my uniform pretty much every time Nino and I go drinking, since that's after work, too."

"Nino's different."

He wipes the crumbs from his fingers with a napkin. "I still don't see why it's so bad, but whatever. I'll come back. Why do you have to choose my outfit?"

"You have to make a good first impression, and while you don't dress bad, I need to take charge here so you look your best from the start!"

He runs a hand through his hair. "This is too complicated."

She gathers his empty plate, as well as hers. "It really isn't," she says, smiling. "Oh, since your date isn't too long after lunchtime, I didn't make you a lunch. Do you want a snack to take, though?"

His mouth turns slightly downward. He looked forward to Lotta's lunches. "It's fine," he says, standing up and pushing his chair in. "We had a big breakfast. I can make it through the day."

"Okay. Bye, have a good day at work!"

"And you at school. Bye." He grabs his briefcase and heads out.

* * *

It's not busy at the office. The only unusual things are the knowing winks Atori occasionally gives him, which no one else has noticed, surprisingly. The girls love to gossip; he was certain Atori would have happily shared her achievement to the others.

 _Evidently not_ , he thinks, signing off on some papers for Mozu. _Thankfully._

His lunch break rolls around. He's not hungry, so he excuses himself to go out for a smoke. He savors it, taking his time, holding in the smoke longer than usual, letting it out in thin, careful streams.

 _I wonder if Rina will mind that I smoke_ , he thinks, and then pauses. _Was that her name?_ He gently bites down on the cigarette, digging for his phone. He checks his recently sent messages.

"Rita," he says, taking the cigarette from his teeth. Lotta would have scolded him for that mishap.

Right beneath that conversation is one with Nino. Jean sends him a new text:

_I got my date's name wrong._

He gets a reply fairly quick.

_Nice going. But I thought that wasn't until 4?_

 

_It is. I got her name wrong in my own thoughts._

It takes Nino a bit to respond, and Jean is absolutely sure that it's because, wherever he is, he's laughing at him. It doesn't bother him, though. His own lips are quirked upwards.

_Better than getting it wrong in person._

He stubs out his cigarette and tosses it into the trash, taking a seat on a bench and typing his reply.

 _Yeah._  

Too short. He sends another message to keep the conversation going:

_I'm on my lunch break._

 

_I figured. Shouldn't you be talking to your coworkers, though? Slouched over a phone when they're all eating and chatting might be rude._

 

 _I'm not inside._ _I went to smoke._

 

_Avoiding eating until the date?_

 

 _Lotta's idea._ _T_ _his dating stuff_ _is_ _kind of_ _annoying. I can see why you_ _'ve always_ _turn_ _ed_ _down dates._

 

_There's more to it than that._

 

_Like what?_

One, two, three, four, five minutes pass with no reply. Jean eyes the time. He needs to go back to work. Normally, Jean would send Nino a brief goodbye, but something about the silence on his end bothers him.

He puts his phone away and walks inside.

Over his remaining shift, thrice he feels his phone buzz, and he checks it every time. Thrice it ends up being phantom vibrations.

At 2:57 pm, he packs up. At three on the dot, he announces he's off to a cheery chorus of goodbyes, Atori's the cheeriest.

When he gets home, Lotta's handpicked outfit is neatly laid out on his bed. She's chosen a long-sleeved light blue button-down shirt, chinos, and chukka boots.

"I could have picked this," he says, to no one in particular.

"Maybe, but not for the first date," Lotta says, peering inside his room. "You wanted to wear your work clothes! I couldn't leave anything to chance."

"You said yourself I don't dress badly."

"I couldn't leave _anything_ to chance," Lotta repeats, closing the door.

He changes quickly and is out of the apartment earlier than he imagined, so he takes the longer way to the restaurant, going over all possible scenarios that could play out. He gets there, but she's late, or way early, or never shows. He gets there, and forgets how to make conversation, so she leaves with a flimsy excuse. He gets there, and says something she doesn't like, so she leaves with a flimsy excuse.

From the corner of his eye, he sees the happy yellow of the restaurant's name. With a glance at his watch, he sees he's fifteen minutes early.

 _That's fine_ , he figures, walking inside. _Here goes nothing._

The hostess greets Jean and asks if it'll just be him, and he shakes his head.

"No, party of two. I'm waiting for my, uh. Date." The word feels odd to say.

The hostess smiles. "Okay! Right this way, please."

He gets seated by a window and texts Rina – _Ri_ _t_ _a_ , he mentally corrects himself – where he's at. While he waits, ignoring the empty chair across from him, he looks through the window, lost in aimless thoughts.

His thoughts are broken by someone lightly clearing their throat. He looks up and sees a woman he doesn't know smiling at him.

"Hi, you're Jean, right?" she says.

Right. He went out for a date. This is Rita- no, Rina. Wait, _was_ it Rita? Crap. "Yeah, I am."

"So, obviously I'm Rita," she says, sliding in the seat in front of him.

 _I'm so bad with names_ , Jean thinks. And then he notices her hair. She wears it straight and long, but it's almost exactly the same shade as Nino's.

A waiter comes with the menus and takes his leave as they eye them.

"I've never been to this restaurant before," Rita continues. "How's the food?"

He blinks quickly, meeting her eyes, finding them light green, not deep blue. "The food's good," he says. "Though the reason I chose this place is for their desserts. It's not a wide selection but what they have is great."

"...I see."

Jean doesn't know what to make of this reaction. "I have a sweet tooth," he says, explaining himself.

"Ah!" Rita flips a page in the menu. "Can't say the same for me."

 _What, how?_ Jean almost asks, but instead goes with, "Really?"

"I'm a dentist. There's some really bad things out there for your teeth, and the things people do to the poor things! I hope you floss, at least, to keep the cavities out."

Jean hides behind his menu. _I should definitely not mention that I smoke._

"Hmm, I think I'll have the lemon rosemary salmon," Rita says, and puts her menu down. "Anyway. How about you, what do you do?"

"I work for ACCA; it's how I know Atori." He places his menu down, having decided on flank steak, and catches their waiter's attention.

"Well, keeping society functioning is, um, good," Rita says after the waiter's left with their orders.

"Yeah," Jean says. His fingers twitch as he tries not to tap them.

What do people who don't know each other talk about?

"Your outfit's nice," Rita says, but it sounds more like it's to break the awkward pause than because she means it.

"Thank you," Jean replies. _I am also definitely not going to mention my younger sister picked this for me_. "I, um, like your hair." He should return a compliment with a compliment, right? And he wasn't lying, either.

"Oh, thank you! I just dyed it recently and was kind of worried it might look bad on me."

So. It's not natural. "Don't worry. It's nice."

The conversation falters again. Really, what do people that don't know each other _talk_ about? Small, shallow things to test the waters, right? They've already mentioned their jobs. The weather, maybe?

Fortunately, Rita comes up with something. A small, shallow thing, sure, but she's doing something about it. And Jean tries to converse, giving longer answers than he normally would, but it's difficult. He's a man of few words – not because he doesn't care, he just doesn't always have something to say. It's never been a problem in his life, but that's because she isn't familiar to him, isn't part of his life. Short replies would sound terse, but if they're _too_ long he'll come across as selfish. His head hurts attempting to keep the balance.

The arrival of the food saves him; he can't talk with his mouth full, after all. Metal cutlery clinks on ceramic dishes. Polite inquires and replies are dashed here and there. The atmosphere feels less like it is a chance to meet someone he could happily spend the rest of his life with and more like it's an interview for a job he doesn't want.

"The portions were so generous," Rita says eventually, her plate not empty. "I don't think I can have any more."

An outlet. Even Jean can see this. So he tells a small lie. "Me either."

They pay, get boxes for their food, and stand awkwardly outside the restaurant. If it was difficult to find something to talk about before, it's even worse now.

 _I don't want another date with her_ , Jean thinks, lips pursed, _but how do I say that nicely? And do I just say 'bye'?_

"Um," Rita says, "Thank you for agreeing to meet me." She gives him a brief smile. "But I think we can both agree we're not really suited for each other."

 _Oh, thank_ _G_ _od._ He sighs, but not without a bit of guilt. "Yeah..."

"The food really was good, though. Anyway, um, good luck out there; I hope you find someone. Have a nice rest of the day."

"You, too."

She's off.

He sighs again, deeper, leaning against the brick wall. He glances down at his box of food. Honestly, he's still hungry, but not for the rest of this meal.

Without a second thought, he digs through his pocket for his phone and makes a call.

He gets a cautious, "Hello?"

"Hey, Nino, do you want to get some cheesecake?"

"What? What about your date?"

"I'll tell you about it later. I'm at the restaurant on Fifth and Main."

"I don't know what this is about, but I'll be there."

Even though Nino can't see it, Jean smiles. "Great. I'll be outside."

"Okay, see you."

They hang up, and Jean looks at his phone's screen a moment, reading Nino's name. 'I don't know what this is about, but I'll be there.' He puts his phone up. _That's Nino for you._

Jean's mind wanders as he waits but is tethered back to the ground when he spots a familiar figure in black a block away.

"So what happened?" Nino asks, walking up to him.

"You know how sociable I am."

Nino laughs. "Come on, did you try?"

"Yeah, and we didn't have anything in common except that we both know Atori. Talking was painful."

"And is cheesecake your reward for making it out alive?"

"It's what I wanted to eat here in the first place. But she didn't like dessert, and I didn't want to stay any longer than I needed. Don't give me that look," Jean half-scolds him with a smile.

"Sorry, sorry." Nino jabs his thumb in the direction of the restaurant. "Shall we go in, or are you going to air your grievances to me out here?"

"I'm going to air my grievances to you inside over cheesecake."

They go in, and the same hostess from before greets them. Her eyebrows go up the slightest bit when she sees Jean again, but otherwise she doesn't mention anything, leading them to their seats. At least the waiter who's serving them is different. They already know what they want, and he leaves quickly.

"Was it just me," Nino says, folding his arms on the table, "or did the hostess look at you a little funny?"

"No, she did," Jean says. "She was here when I came earlier, so-" He cuts himself off, realizing something. It had been a party of two earlier. For a date, as he'd said himself. Here he is again, with another person.

"So...?" Nino prompts.

"So she recognized me," Jean says quickly.

Nino smiles. "She's probably wondering what sort of weirdo goes inside a restaurant, leaves, and comes back just for dessert."

 _And with someone else._ "Probably."

"Anyway," Nino says, "are you going to tell me how the date went?"

Jean grimaces. "Calling it a date is too generous a term..."

It embarrasses him, so openly admitting how little he knows about relationships, but because this is Nino he's talking to, he can laugh at himself along with his friend.

Food and company. This is how it should be.

"You're hopeless," Nino says, finishing the last of his cheesecake.

Jean can't even argue that.

After they pay and are heading out, Nino thanks Jean for having invited him out.

"Sure thing," Jean replies. "No one else appreciates desserts like you."

Nino smiles thinly. "Thanks for the compliment, but I'm basically your only friend. You didn't have a whole lot of options."

"Even if I had a hundred friends, I would have called you first."

"Oh," Nino says.

"Are we still on for Friday?"

"Hm? Right, yeah. Yes, Friday drinking is still happening. Unless you changed your mind?"

"No, I thought since we went out to eat today you might not want-"

Nino lightly flicks him on the forehead, eyes crinkled. "You thought wrong."

Jean smiles. "Did you have to flick my head, though?"

"Yup."

Since they live in the same general direction, they walk home together until they come to the street where Jean goes left and Nino right. They share a brief goodbye and go their respective ways.

The rest of Jean's walk home is quiet, broken only by Lotta as he opens their apartment's door.

"Hey! How was the date?!"

He purses his mouth.

Lotta's excited expression withers. "Jeaaan..."

"What? I didn't say anything."

"That face was enough!"

He plops himself down on the sofa, leaning his head back. "We were incompatible."

Lotta sits next to him, cross-legged. "How so?"

"She was a dentist."

Lotta's mouth turns into a small 'o' shape.

"Right?"

"I take it back," she says, "even if you had been on your best behavior, this was going to lead nowhere. Why did Atori think it'd be a good idea to set you up?"

"Wish I knew." He turns to face her. "But it wasn't all so bad. I asked Nino to come after she left and we got cheesecake, which is why I chose that restaurant anyway." He hands her his to-go box. "I got you a slice, but if you wanna try what I got for actual food, feel free."

"Nino, huh?" she says, smiling. "And thank you! I'll put this all in the fridge."

The rest of his day passes as normal. He's almost forgotten he had a date, disastrous as it was, by the time he goes to sleep.

* * *

"Rita told me about your date. I'm sorry you two didn't click!" Atori tells Jean the next day at work.

"It's not your fault. It's hard for me to get along with people."

"Ah, but it would have been so cute!" Atori says, clasping her hands and holding them by her cheek. "I don't know why, but it would have!"

He suddenly remembers her hair, an ocean blue.

He shrugs.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It's Friday evening.

Jean takes a long drink from his beer, long enough that Nino's eyebrows go up. He sets the glass down, swallowing roughly, making himself cough. Immediately, Nino's next to him, patting his back.

"Do you need water?" Nino asks.

Jean shakes his head. "Thanks, though," he wheezes out.

Nino sits back down, looking worried. "Whatever was that for?"

"I thought I could drink like you," Jean replies after his cough has subsided but is replaced by a light blush.

Nino's frown turns to a smirk. "You still haven't learned. You can't and never will."

"Leave me alone."

"Then who'll take care of you?"

"Lotta."

"She's not allowed inside bars."

"Fine," Jean says, fighting a smile, "you can stay."

"How generous of you."

Their conversation meanders and yet they never are lost. Alcohol definitely makes Jean more talkative, but even without it, talking to Nino is enjoyable. Uncomplicated. Why can't it be like that with everyone else?

"Hey, Nino."

"Mmm?"

Jean watches a drop of condensation roll down his glass. "If I had met you recently – so if we didn't have those ten plus years of history, if we were strangers – do you think we'd have become friends anyway?"

Nino rests his cheek on his hand. "Yes," he says, simply.

Jean doesn't hold back his smile now. "I think so, too."

"After all," Nino says, "despite everything, I'm here."

Jean's smile softens. He takes a pensive drink. "Besides being a photographer, what else do you do now that you're free?"

"Not have to file any more reports."

"I meant more like personal things."

"'Personal things'?" Nino slowly asks.

"Stuff like dating."

"Where'd _this_ come from?"

"I've been thinking about it since I had the 'date,'" Jean says. "I don't really care about dating, but you've never lacked for attention and you've always ignored it." He runs a hand through his hair. "You don't have me to worry about me anymore. Your life's yours."

Nino's smile is humorless. "Are you trying to set me up with someone or something?"

"No, no. I just-" Jean sighs. "It's always been about me. I want you to do what makes you happy."

Nino glances down at his drink, silent.

Jean's stomach flips at his unusually distant expression. "Nino?" he says when the silence starts to itch.

Nino blinks, turning his eyes back up. "Sorry," he says, and gives Jean a small smile. "Jean, what I could do may have been restricted, but I was never unhappy. I don't have much of an interest in dating still. I'm content with my life as it is. I... appreciate you thinking of me, though."

Jean relaxes. "If you say so."

"I do say so."

Jean chuckles.

"What about you?" Nino asks. "Giving up forever after Wednesday's incident?"

"Probably. Going on dates means talking to people."

"The horror."

Jean rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "It means talking to people in-depth. I already told you how lost I was talking to her. It's also kind of weird how the whole point of dating is to meet a bunch of people until you find someone you don't mind spending the rest of your life with. You're both aware either you'll serve as a stepping stone until 'the one' is found, or you won't even get a second date. It's a little daunting. But the most annoying thing is just getting to know a stranger." He settles back into his seat. "How did _we_ even do it?"

"I did most of the talking, and I guess you decided having me around was okay."

Jean smiles, sipping his beer. "I made a good decision."

Nino goes through the rest of his glass fast. And the next he orders. Jean is surprised, but he doesn't say anything. _He must have had a tiring week_ , he reasons.

They call it a night. Jean himself didn't drink much and is able to walk home fairly clear-headed, which is a good thing; he has work tomorrow.

This is a routine, yes. But one he enjoys. 

* * *

"I'm home," Jean says, shrugging off his jacket, just arriving to his apartment from work the following day. He sniffs the air. It smells like something is baking.

Lotta pops her head up from the kitchen, apparently having been kneeling by the oven. "Hi! How was work?"

"Same old. You making cookies?"

"Yup! Chocolate chip. I was craving some, and store-bought doesn't really do it. Don't get too comfortable," she adds, as Jean begins to nudge off his shoes, "you're gonna take some to Nino once they're done, which is in-" She glances at her timer. "-two minutes."

"You're not even gonna wait for them to cool?"

"Okay, _ten_ minutes. Still, don't change!"

He smiles, putting his shoes back on.

When the cookies are done, he's soon on his way to Nino's apartment. It's a very short walk, so the cookies have not lost that fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth. Jean hasn't eaten any, and their scent is making his mouth water. After dropping them off, he's going back home and promptly eating his share.

He knocks on Nino's door.

No response.

He frowns. Nino's usually quick about answering. He knocks again.

Nothing.

 _Maybe he's not home_ , Jean thinks, _I should have texted_ _or called him_ _before._ One-handed, he digs up his phone and speed-dials him.

From inside the apartment, a faint buzz.

Jean's frown deepens. _So he's home? Or forgot his phone._ _T_ _hat's actually likely._ He hangs up, the buzzing stopping, and he speaks through the wood of the door. "Nino, are you home? It's Jean. I have something for you."

He hears some shuffling inside, the sound of feet on the floor.

"One moment," mumbles Nino in a hoarse voice that takes Jean aback.

 _Did I wake him up?_ Jean thinks. _But it's four..._

He waits a couple of minutes before Nino opens the door.

Jean's eyes widen.

Nino, smelling of alcohol, is wearing yesterday's clothing, rumpled. His hair is sticking out from every direction, even more than normal. And his eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, askew.

Jean opens his mouth to say something, but does not. Where would he start?

"Sorry for this," Nino croaks, gesturing drowsily at himself. "What's up?"

"Nino, what happened?"

He waves him off. "Don't worry about it. Wh-"

"How can you say that? You look terrible, and you were fine last night." Jean peers over Nino's shoulder and sees a nearly finished bottle of wine by the sofa, laying on its side, spilling a few red drops on to the carpet. "Can I at least help you clean up?"

Nino draws the door half-close. "I'm fine. What brings you here?"

Jean purses his lips. "Are you not going to tell me why you got drunk, then?"

"No," Nino says, after a small pause, head down. "Could you talk quieter, too? My head is killing me."

 _I thought we were past the secrets_ , Jean thinks, pursing his lips harder, his teeth digging into the fold of his bottom lip. "Lotta made cookies," he says, flatly. "She wanted me to give you these."

"Thanks," Nino says, accepting the container. He stands there awkwardly. "Listen, Jean. I just wanted to drink more."

Jean hums, not very impressed, but a little relieved Nino's said _something_.

"And it got out of hand."

"That it did. I've never seen you this hungover. Are you sure you don't need my help or anything?"

Nino smiles in a remnant of his usual self. "I'm sure. This is my own mess to clean up. But thank you."

"Well, okay." He drums his fingers on his leg. "Sorry for waking you."

"It's not your fault. Only sad drunks sleep until four." He motions inside. "I'm gonna get showered, change, and then try these. Tell Lotta I said thanks."

"I will." Jean stuffs his fidgeting hands in his pockets, giving Nino a glance-over. "You take care, okay? And you can call me if you need anything."

"Okay. See you, Jean."

He half-turns. "Bye."

Nino shuts the door.

Back home, even Lotta's cookies don't get the bad taste out of Jean's mouth or the twitch out of his fingers. 

* * *

Jean reads the grocery list, the glass doors of the store sliding opening soundlessly. _Butter again? I swear I just bought that last week._ He gets a shopping cart and realizes too late it's got a wonky wheel, to his chagrin.

 _Maybe we should cut back on all the baking_ , he thinks. He half-laughs, half-scoffs. _Who am I kidding, we can't quit fats and carbohydrates_.

Sometimes Lotta accompanies him when it's time to shop for groceries – it's better, really, because she knows exactly what brands they like, or which stores have the better deals. Jean just takes whatever, wherever. But she has a lot of homework to do, and they really need to stock up on basic things, so it's Jean's job alone.

He likes it, though. Especially going early. Few people choose to go at this time, and the store is pleasantly quiet. He easily gets lost in his own thoughts.

So his surprise at seeing the profile of someone he knows quite well, looking seriously at the brands of canned tuna in front of him with arms crossed, is genuine.

Jean doesn't need anything in this aisle, but there he goes.

"So," he says to Nino, who turns to look at him, "I guess a day of rest is all you needed. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, I am. If I had to deal with a hangover for two or more days, I would not touch alcohol again."

"Liar."

Nino laughs, an actual laugh, and it lightens Jean's spirits. "Maybe."

 _He's back_ , Jean thinks, relieved.

"I have to say," Nino continues, "this insight into your life of poor alcohol tolerance was interesting."

"Now you know not to be as smug as you are about your usual lack of hangovers."

"Let's not get too hasty."

Jean chuckles. He eyes what Nino had been looking at. "You were seriously indecisive about tuna, of all things?"

"See, I normally get this brand," Nino says, pointing to such, "but this other brand, which is also good, is buy two get one free. When you take into consideration the amount of tuna each of those cans has, it ends up being a better value than my normal purchase. But do I really need that much tuna?"

"What if you eat it with us?" Jean suggests, rubbing the back of his neck. "Lotta hasn't made lunch yet. With all that tuna, we could make tuna cakes or something for the three of us. Or whatever other tuna dishes there are, I don't know. We've said 'tuna' too much."

Nino grins. "I'll take you up on that oppor-tuna-ty."

"Ugh, Nino!" Jean groans, but they're both laughing. Nino's odd behavior seems so distant, not yesterday's occurrence.

"Three cans it is," Nino says, grabbing them and putting them in his shopping basket. "I've already got everything else I came here for. How about you?"

Jean looks at his list. "I have about half remaining." He looks back up. "Can you stick around? We'll be eating at my place after, anyway."

"I can and I will."

Jean smiles. _Whatever had him down yesterday must not have been important_. "Let's go, then. I need cinnamon next." He walks on, Nino next to him. Jean glances at him sidelong and notices the curve of Nino's smile, the crinkle of his forward-facing eyes. _Even if he won't tell me what happened, I'm happy he's happy._

They go from aisle to aisle as needed, talking amiably, Jean almost forgetting to stop and pick what he needs because he's lost in conversation. In the cereal aisle, he comes to a halt on purpose.

"What's wrong? Did you forget something back there?" Nino asks.

"No. It's this." Jean points at a cereal. "Remember this?"

"Hey, yeah. Isn't this that cereal we ate all the time in high school that got discontinued, probably because it gave everyone cavities and nothing else?"

Jean smirks. "Yeah. I'd recognize it anywhere." And he would: seeing the Neapolitan ice cream-flavored cereal, with its colorful cover, takes him back to nostalgic days.

"Just looking at it makes my teeth rot," Nino comments. "Wonder why they brought it back when it's so unhealthy."

Jean turns to him. "Should we get a box?"

"Damn right we should."

Jean leans, takes one, and holds it to his chest. "Maybe even two."

"Right, because Lotta never tried it. All her baby teeth would have fallen out at once."

"But should we introduce her to it? There's no way this is healthy now, and she's still young-"

Suddenly a little kid pushes between them, grabs a box, and runs to his rapidly approaching mother.

"Benny!" she chides. "Don't shove into people like that!"

The boy pouts. "But I wanted it and they were just standing there in front of the cereal."

"That's what the magic words 'excuse me' are for." His mom gives Nino and Jean an apologetic look. "I'm sorry my son was rude."

"It's fine," Jean says, smiling.

"We _were_ just kinda standing here," Nino admits.

"Benny," she says, putting her hands on her son's shoulders, "what do you say to the nice couple?"

It takes Jean an additional second to register her last two words. _'Nice couple?'_ He steals a look at Nino to see if he caught her words, but it doesn't seem he did.

"I'm sorry," the boy says quickly. "Can we go get pudding now, Mommy?"

His mom sighs, giving Nino and Jean one last apology before walking off with her child in hand.

 _'Nice couple,'_  Jean thinks again. _'Couple' has a nonromantic meaning too, doesn't it? Did she mean that? Or-?_

"Kids," Nino says, with a quiet laugh, breaking Jean's thoughts. "So, two boxes?"

Jean clears his throat. "Yeah," he says, taking another and putting both on the cart somewhat carelessly.

They finish their shopping with no other incidents, but the word 'couple' continues to ring in Jean's head.

It won't leave his thoughts at home, either, with the three of them walking past each other in the kitchen, cooking work divided. More than once he bumps into Nino or Nino into him, and the point of contact is hot every time.

If Nino has noticed that when they are sitting down to eat Jean keeps glancing at him fleetingly, he gives no indication. 

* * *

Jean has been laying on his bed, eyes dry and fixed on the ceiling, for the past hour.

 _Why can't I stop thinking about this? Two people side-by-side are technically a couple. That's all that woman meant._ He blinks blearily at the clock, mouth twisted to the side. _I need to go to sleep, brain. Any time now would be good._

Instead his brain supplies him with the memory of the grocery store. A brightly lit aisle, a row of brightly colored cereal boxes. A brightly smiling person.

He flips on his side. _We've grocery shopped together before. This is nothing new._ He sinks his cheek into the welcome coolness of the pillow. _We weren't acting any different than any time we spend together. She meant 'couple' in the technical sense._

His thoughts so repeat, growing less coherent as time ticks on until, mercifully, he falls asleep. 

* * *

"You didn't sleep well, did you?" Lotta asks him, placing his breakfast in front of him. "Your eyes are so puffy."

Jean grumbles.

She sits in front if him, nursing a mug of tea. "What kept you up?"

Jean pokes at his scrambled eggs. "Lotta, what makes a couple?"

"Hmm," she says, eyes up in thought. "Mutual love and respect, I guess."

"If you saw two people together, do you think you could guess they were a couple?"

"Depends on how they were acting." She sips her tea. "Why do you ask? You're the adult here."

 _It doesn't feel like it._ "No reason." He brings a forkful of food to his mouth. "The eggs are very fluffy."

He leaves for work, mind muddled between sleepiness and awareness. He manages to get work done, somehow.

Around the girls' snacktime, the craving of a cigarette rolls in the back of his tongue. "Smoke break," he mumbles, patting his pockets for his cigarette case. He finds them empty. _Damn. I was so tired this morning I must have forgotten_ _it_ _at home._

His phone buzzes.

A message from Nino: 

 _Come outside a second._  

He swallows and goes.

The sun glints off Nino's hair, off his glasses. He's all in black.

 _Is it not uncomfortable?_ Jean wonders, adjusting his own collar.

Nino's holding Jean's cigarette case. His motorcycle helmet is nestled in the crook of his other arm. "Did I make it in time for your smoke break?"

Jean wraps his fingers around the case. It's warm. Or is that him? Both? "You did."

"Good." He grins. "I can't say I was too surprised Lotta asked me to make this delivery. You should tape your case to yourself or something."

Jean's lips quirk up. "Probably. Thanks for going out of your way to bring it to me."

"Sure thing, but don't worry, it wasn't out of the way; I'm headed to the plaza near here. The magnolia trees are in full bloom and I'd like some pictures." Nino puts his helmet on. "Well, I don't wanna keep you. Enjoy your break."

 _You're not keeping me_. "Thank you."

Nino waves goodbye. Jean returns the gesture, watching him on his bike fade to a black dot in the distance. He walks to the shade of the building's awning and lights a cigarette. His inhale is hearty, and he imagines the smoke curling at the tips of his arteries, making him more alert once there.

 _Maybe I should stop by the plaza after work_ , he thinks. _It sounds pleasant_. He twists the cigarette between thumb and forefinger. _Something pretty and peaceful to see._

Shift over, he follows through on his earlier thought, steps brisk. His mood further lightens when he reaches the plaza and sees the flowers on plants, trees, and shrubs splashing with color. There are many different kinds; he only recognizes a few, but they're all lovely, looking and smelling wonderful.

Since it's warm out, and not very crowded, Jean pinpoints Nino right away. Though even in the crowd that is the entire city of Badon, they would still find each other. They have, in fact.

Something squeezes Jean's stomach the tiniest bit.

Nino is crouching beneath a tree – the magnolia he mentioned, Jean guesses – taking pictures angled upwards. Jean approaches, the springy grass muffling the sound of his footsteps. He watches Nino, content in his element, and is almost afraid of saying anything to break his concentration. But then Nino steps out from under the tree, seamlessly turns around, and snaps a picture of him.

Jean smiles. "You've been here a while."

Nino lowers his camera. "There are lots of pictures to take."

"Of the same trees for the past four hours?"

"No, Jean," Nino laughs. "This isn't a magnolia. It's a dogwood. I moved around."

"A dogwood?" Jean's eyes travel up the tree, full of delicate white flowers. "I've never even heard of that. So you're a tree expert, too?"

Nino smirks. "No, but I _can_ read." He points to a small plaque at the base of the tree, reading _Dogwood._

"Huh."

"I don't know anything about trees except they're nice to photograph." Nino goes back under the tree. "It's even nicer looking up. Unique perspective. Here." He offers his hand to Jean.

Jean looks between it and Nino in the span of a heartbeat and then grasps it, feeling how their hands fit together. He ducks as he does so, but apparently he doesn't do it far enough, as a low-hanging branch runs through his hair. He sits down.

"Now look up," Nino says, and Jean does.

The sun dapples through the gaps in between the flowers and even partly through the white of their petals, making them glow. The trees' limbs themselves, long and sinewy, stretch luxuriously outward, resplendent in their blossoming. And as a breeze comes and rifles through the dogwood, it sways the flowers and their sunny patterns in a dance of wind and light.

"You were right," Jean breathes. "About the perspective."

"Of course. When am I wrong?"

Jean goes to swat at him, but Nino anticipates it, moving out of the way with a laugh Jean shares as well.

They get out and begin walking home without needing to say so. At the street where they split, Nino turns to him, about to say something. But he doesn't. The corner of his mouth quirks up.

Jean raises an eyebrow in silent question just as Nino extends a hand toward his face. In that half-second, Jean forgets how to move, how to breathe; he's just staring at Nino with eyes round like the sun and cheeks as hot as it, too.

_What-_

The hand moves past his face. Then Nino is taking his arm back, holding a dogwood flower petal, giving Jean an amused look. "It was in your hair."

A long, shaky exhale. "Oh. Okay. Thanks."

Nino lets the flower flutter to the ground.

 _What if I pick it up?_ Jean thinks, out of nowhere. He shakes his head – whether to get rid of the thought or in response to himself, he doesn't know.

"There's no more petals, don't worry," Nino says, eyeing his hair, misinterpreting Jean's shake of the head. He lazily raises his hand, that same hand that barely missed Jean's face. "Later, Jean."

"Yeah," Jean says again, his fingers curled at the nape of his neck. "Later."


	3. Chapter 3

A subway whooshes past as Jean descends the stairs into the underground station. The queue is long but neat with morning commuters. Some impatiently tap their feet or glance at their watches, annoyed their rail is late.

Jean shrugs, taking his place in the line.

He waits, eyes wandering about and landing on a poster on the other side of the station. It features a camera, front and center, surrounded by a circle of photographs that gradually gain color. He can't read the caption from where he stands, but he recognizes the logo for the city's fine arts museum on the bottom left.

"Huh," he says to himself, the word drowned out by the metallic sound of his subway approaching.

Above ground, with better reception, he loiters outside ACCA's building to look it up on his phone. Turns out the fine arts museum is having a special exhibit highlighting the history of Dowa, told through photographs.

 _Nino would like th_ _at_ , he thinks, fingers curling around his phone. _I should tell him._

"Morning, sir!" says a cheery voice. "Going in?"

He looks up. Mozu is holding the door open for him.

"Yes, thank you," he says, putting his phone up. He saves the thought of the museum and Nino for later; right now, he has work. Unfortunately.

Come lunchtime, nibbling on one of Lotta's sandwiches, he starts typing a message to Nino: 

 _I saw that the fine arts museum is having a photography exhibit._  

His fingers hover above the keys. He adds: 

 _Do you want to go?_  

Fingers pulsing, Jean sends the text in a hurry, as if reading over the words any longer will burn him. He rereads them anyway as he waits for a reply, and realizes maybe he should have specified this is an invitation, not him asking Nino if he will go on his own some day; rather, that they _both_ go-

Nino has replied. 

 _That sounds great. What days does the exhibit run, and when are you free?_  

Jean bites his lip to keep a smile in check.

After some planning, the two make their plans to visit the museum that Sunday, meeting at the subway station closest to Jean's apartment at ten in the morning.

As Jean pockets his phone and finishes the last of his food, he doesn't bother to hide his smile. 

* * *

The slow, mental countdown to Sunday is over.

Jean wakes up too early, normally causing him to shoot his clock a disdainful glare, but this time, he gets up without fighting it. By the time he's ready, he still has several hours to go before his and Nino's meetup. Restless, unsure of what to do, he decides to go out on the rooftop for a smoke.

Taking long, drawn-out drags soothes his nerves, clears his mind. Why should he be anxious about going someplace with Nino? There is nothing unusual about it.

When his cigarette is a stub, he puts it out and goes inside to toss it in the trash. Lotta is awake, busying herself in the kitchen. She blinks at him.

"Where are you going? It's your day off."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to tell you." He moves past her to discard his cigarette. "Fine arts museum with Nino."

"What! Can I go, too?"

He stills. There is also nothing unusual about the three of them out on a trip; Lotta's request is normal. But. _But_. Jean hadn't actually considered her going along this time. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Uh."

Her expression softens. "It's okay, I get it," she says. "Sometimes it should be just you two."

He looks aside. "Thanks, Lotta," he says. "We'll go together some other day."

Lotta's response is a little curious-sounding hum, and Jean feels his ears get warm. He heads for the living room before she can see that they are turning red.

Half an hour later, he leaves for the subway. He knows he'll be early, even going at this time, but he doesn't mind waiting.

Except he doesn't need to. Nino's already there.

"Hey," Nino says. His camera is around his neck, Jean notes with a smile. "You're early."

"Is that really the thing to say when you were here before me?"

"I live further away."

"By like ten minutes. How long have you been here?"

"Not long _._ _"_

"That's good." Jean crosses his arms. "So... should we go, since we're already here? I dunno if the museum is open already."

"They are," Nino reassures him with a smile.

The clanking of an approaching subway makes both of them turn.

"Just in time," Nino says, leaning in close to Jean's ear to be heard above the din, and Jean's breath falters.

Though the subway isn't very full, Nino decides to stand. Jean grabs the handhold next to him. The trip itself is only about ten minutes, which they spend in quiet conversation, although Jean finds his eyes can't seem to settle. He makes eye contact with Nino, since they're talking, but maybe he's looked _too_ long, so his eyes flit away, and then he realizes he should make eye contact again so Nino doesn't think he's ignoring him. On and on. Jean is aware of the annoying behavior but is unable to stop it. His face burns.

They step out ten minutes later, walk two blocks, and stand in front of the museum surrounded by neatly arranged trees.

 _Here goes_ , Jean thinks, going inside with Nino following.

After they get their tickets, they pause for a moment.

"Are we going straight to the photography exhibit?" Jean asks slowly. It is the reason he invited Nino, yes, but surely they'll see the other things the museum has to offer. _That was implied in the visit, ri-?_

"Let's go in order," Nino says. "That way it'll be easier to know what we've seen already."

Jean nods, messy thoughts relieved.

They strategically make their way through the museum's collections. Jean isn't much of an art person; he appreciates the paintings and sculptures aesthetically, but he doesn't linger long by them.

Except for one.

It's flanked by two larger, more refined paintings, yet it is the smaller middle one that catches Jean's eye. He nears it. Rough brush strokes, in shades of blue and white, take up most of the space. It's water, blending in almost seamlessly with the ever-slightly lighter colors of the sky. And the water must not be very deep, for there are two shapeless and sexless figures, painted only in shadows, in the midst of it all. They hold each other so closely it's difficult to distinguish them from each other.

So simple, in style and theme. Jean is entranced.

The nearly imperceptible sound of a camera shutter takes his attention away. He turns and sees Nino lowering his camera, smiling.

"Wasn't I in the way?" Jean asks, rubbing his eyes, dry from not having blinked.

"I wasn't taking a picture of the painting itself," Nino says, taking the last few steps to be beside him, "but of you looking at it."

Jean's hand on his face stills. "Really?"

"You _made_ the picture," Nino says, showing him.

Jean doesn't know anything about photography, but even he can tell there is something about this that's exquisite. He is in the center, naturally drawing the eye, but there in front of him is the painting with its vibrant blues, competing with his static self for foremost attention. Around him is nothing but the muted white of the museum walls, framing him in a perfect square. _This_ _would fit right in_ _their photography exhibit_ , he thinks. He looks up at Nino. "You're really good at what you do," he says.

Nino smiles, bashfully.

 _I_ _f_ _tha_ _t's not even nicer than his picture,_ Jean thinks, _nothing is._ He's not said it, just thought it – and, really, a little thing at that – but Jean clears his throat.

"Did you notice its title?" Nino asks.

"No," Jean says, turning to look at the plaque by the painting with that information.

 _The Two That Are One_ , it reads.

Jean stares.

"I think it's a good name," Nino goes on. "Is it referring to the sky and the sea? Or the two people? Both? I'm not familiar with the painter and can't begin to guess their intentions." He turns to Jean. "What do you think?"

"Huh? Oh." Jean brushes imaginary dust off his pants. "I thought both, but I think we're supposed to focus on the figures more."

"Hey, I did too." With his head, Nino motions leftward. "We moving on, or do you still want to analyze this like we know what we're doing?"

Jean's lip quirks up. "We can move on."

None of the other things get his attention like that painting, but Jean still enjoys himself, finding himself smiling when seeing Nino photograph, especially when it's of him. Though he doesn't do so because he's the subject, like the societal obligation it is. There's just something about being the focus behind Nino's lens, despite all the art around them, that makes Jean smile.

They reach the photography exhibit. Nino lowers his camera, an eagerness in his step that makes Jean smile even more. While at least some of the painters were familiar to Jean, none of the photographers are. But Nino is awed, muttering about how great their talent is for composition and lighting and exposure. He's talking to himself, but Jean still listens.

"I wish I could photograph like this," Nino mumbles past the hand partly covering his mouth.

"You do, though," Jean immediately replies. Nino blinks at him, and Jean adds, "I don't know much at all about photography, but every shot you've ever shown me has been good. You could be in an exhibit, too." He hastily runs a hand through his hair, feeling more embarrassed than if he'd not explained himself.

"Thank you, Jean," Nino replies, and Jean doesn't need to look at him to know he's smiling. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

They slowly make their way around, Nino taking the time to read the captions beside each picture, but Jean doesn't mind in the slightest.

Finally they get to a photograph Jean recognizes from high school history books. It's one of a long-dead king, the first known photograph of such a royal.

 _My relative_ , he thinks, suddenly uncomfortable at the shift in his perception. If things had gone differently, would one of Nino's pictures of Jean also have ended up famous? He glances at Nino to find him already looking at him.

"We're both thinking the same thing, aren't we?" Jean says.

"I think we are." Nino folds his arms. "You know that no one besides your grandfather, my father, and me ever saw your pictures, right?"

"Yes."

"It would have been the same in another life."

Jean smiles.

When they're finished, by now having seen the whole museum, Nino seems disappointed it's over.

"We can come back when the special exhibit changes," Jean says, "even if it's not photography. Uh, if you like."

Nino perks. "Okay," he says, "yeah, that's- I'd like that."

It means a commitment to periodically checking the museum's exhibits, which Jean would be liable to forget. But this, for Nino, he can do.

"How long did this sightseeing take us?" Nino asks, taking Jean from his thoughts.

Jean checks the time on his phone. "Five hours," he says, surprised. _It felt like way less..._

"Then I guess it's lunchtime. You hungry?"

Jean suddenly notes his stomach feels empty. "Yeah, you?"

"Same. Where do you wanna go?"

Jean hums in thought. He doesn't have time to answer, though, because when they get to the museum's lobby, they realize it's raining outside.

"It was supposed to rain?" he wonders out loud.

"I have no clue," Nino says. "I didn't check. The sky certainly looked fine to me."

"So neither of us has a jacket or umbrella."

"Nope."

"Do you want to eat here and wait out the rain?" Jean turns his head back. "I'm pretty sure I see something over there in the corner."

"Yeah, that's fine."

There's nothing special about the food; it's a standard chain, the likes of which the two usually don't go to, preferring places unique to Badon. Privately, Jean almost wants to apologize it's not someplace better, despite this being outside his control. But Nino doesn't complain – in fact, they're chatting and laughing like always – so he keeps it to himself, relieved Nino doesn't mind.

They throw away their trash when they finish, absorbed in conversation as they head to the lobby, and don't notice that it's raining even harder now until someone comes in the museum, the brief moment the door opens bringing in a _whoosh_ of wind and water.

Their conversation stops. They stare outside.

"Nice going, Jean," Nino says with a smirk.

"What? What did I do?"

"Suggested we 'wait out the rain.' Now it's worse."

Jean crosses his arms. "How was I gonna know?"

"Hey, it's fine," Nino says, briefly touching his elbow, "I'm not actually annoyed. That'd be a stupid thing to get worked up over."

Jean unfolds his arms and grabs at his elbow without thinking about it. "Oh. Okay."

"Maybe the gift shop has umbrellas?"

"I hope," Jean mumbles as they make their way there.

Once at the gift shop, they split up to search. "To find it faster," Nino says.

Jean walks past a bookshelf highlighting some of the current art on display, including the photography. He grabs one, leafing through it, when Nino calls him over. Hastily putting the book back, Jean peeks through each aisle until he gets to Nino.

"I found them," Nino says, gesturing with his head to the left while holding something behind him, "but they look too small to fit both of us."

 _We were going to share one?_ Jean thinks. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "We can each get one; it's fine."

"We both already own umbrellas though, right?"

"Yeah."

"So," Nino continues, grinning, "instead, what about _these_?" He brings his arms out in front of him, and Jean snickers at what he sees.

" _Ponchos_?"

"Why not? I don't have one. I doubt you do, too."

"Because they look silly."

Nino's grin widens. "That's half the fun." He holds one out for Jean. "Come on. They're also cheaper than the umbrellas. We get new accessories, a better deal, and a dumb look for a little bit."

"Were there no bigger umbrellas?"

"No, only small ones." Nino moves the poncho in his hand closer to Jean. "Accept your fate, Jean."

Jean takes it, trying not to look too resigned. _We were going to share an umbrella..._

After paying, they open the packages, the wrinkly plastic making too much noise for the quiet lobby. It embarrasses Jean somewhat, but not as much as actually putting on the poncho.

Then Nino looks at him and bends over laughing, and Jean _knows_ his face is pink. He tugs on the hood as if to hide himself.

"I'm sorry, you just-" Nino straightens, struggling to keep a neutral face. "With it being yellow, you look like an overgrown kindergartner."

He lightly punches Nino in the arm.

"I'm not gonna look good either," Nino says, managing his laughter better. "Here, watch." He slides his poncho on. It briefly musses his hair, but once the poncho's on, his hair settles back.

Now it's Jean's turn to laugh. "Yeah, that's dumb. Since yours is black it looks like an oversized garbage bag."

"Well, should we make our high-fashion street debut, or is there anything else?"

"I don't think there is."

Nino smirks, pulling up his hood. "Then let's go."

Their time in the downpour is brief, as they walk fast to get to the subway station sooner. Their pace quickens more when they note their train is just arriving. They get in on time, the doors sliding shut behind them.

Nino sighs, grabbing a handhold, choosing to stand again. "What a day."

Jean purses his lips. "Weather aside, did you enjoy it?"

"'Weather aside'? The rain was part of the fun, too. I had a great time today."

They're in a metal contraption deep underground, yet it feels like the sun is shining right there in front of Jean. "I'm really glad," he says. "I did, too."

"Thanks for inviting me."

Jean smiles.

"Why didn't Lotta come, though? Was she not interested?"

Jean's smile falls. "She, um, was busy," he says, not very convincingly, he thinks.

"Shame. Next time, we should all come."

"Right," he says, after a pause.

The subway clanks along, the drops of water rolling off them and to the floor moving with the curving paths the subway takes.

Above ground at their stop, they exchange goodbyes muffled by the loud beating of the rain. Nino turns and quickly leaves. The rain pelts at Jean like hundreds of tiny accusatory fingers as he watches Nino grow small. Then he also goes his respective way.

Jean leaves a trail of water up to his floor. Stopping outside his door, he removes the poncho, shaking it loose of raindrops, and folds it over his arm.

"I'm home," he says, walking in.

"Welcome back!" Lotta says, looking up at him from where she's lounging on the sofa with a magazine. "How was your day?"

"It wasn't a date," he quickly says, hands bunching on his folded poncho.

"I said 'day'," Lotta says, looking at him quizzically.

Jean's hands loosen. "Oh." He glances to the side. "My day was good. The museum was nice. Nino liked it, too."

Lotta's smile is wry. "Hmm. I see."

He halfheartedly holds his poncho up. "I'm... gonna go put this up," he mumbles, hastily walking to the laundry room to hang it.

 _Why did I think she said 'date'?_ he wonders, struggling to get the hanger inside the poncho. _Lately I've been overthinking things._

The vibrations from his phone in his pocket startle him. He gets it out and sees it's a message from Nino: 

 _Did you make it home okay?_  

Not that Nino can see it, but Jean smiles. 

_Yeah, you?_

 

 _Well, I've been drier._  

He chuckles quietly to himself.

Nino sends another text: 

_Thanks again for today. I_

Jean blinks. _'I' what?_

Nino's next message is very quick: 

_Sorry, I didn't mean to send that I._

Ah.

Jean sends his reply: 

 _It's fine. And, again, you're welcome._  

It feels stiff, but they'd had a similar conversation minutes ago in person. Surely Nino knows he's not being flippant. Maybe he should send something else to make it clear- right; his promise they'd return. 

_I'll tell you next time they have something interesting so we can go again._

 

 _I look forward to it._  

Jean smiles again. _I do too_ , he thinks.


	4. Chapter 4

The hands on the office wall's clock hit 3:00.

"Snacktime!" the girls say in unison, already moving about to gather their food and eat together.

Jean stretches behind his computer, and then stands up, leaning against his office door's frame. "Sometimes I feel like you three come to work only so you can eat together," he says, smiling lazily.

"Can't deny that!" chirps Atori, handing out napkins. "Today's treats are cream-filled donuts!"

"Yay!" says Mozu, clapping her hands.

"I brought enough for everyone," Atori continues. "Come get yours!"

"Thank you, but I don't want mine," Jean says, receiving shocked looks. "I'm not hungry," he explains. "I am gonna go out for a smoke, though."

"Who's gonna get the extra, then?" Atori asks aloud, and a bickering ensues. Jean doesn't hear the rest of it, as he leaves the office.

 _It'_ _ll be_ _summer_ _soon_ , he thinks, a breeze carrying warmth unlike the pleasant kind of spring. He rolls his sleeves to his elbows before lighting a cigarette. He sits on a bench, legs out in front of him, letting out a laggard exhale. Suddenly he sits straighter. _That means it's almost Nino's birthday_.

Being quiet people, they've never done anything too extravagant for any of their birthdays. Something itches in the back of his head, though he ignores it, focusing on the smoke. It goes in. It goes out. It goes in. It g-

"Hi," says Nino beside him, startling Jean enough he drops his cigarette. "Damn. Sorry."

"It's okay," Jean says, heart a little wild from the sudden surprise. He steps on the cigarette. "I hadn't been smoking it long."

"That means it's more of a waste, doesn't it?"

"Well, whatever." He notices Nino's holding a bag with what looks a lot like to-go boxes. "What's that for?"

"To eat?" Nino digs up one of the boxes, handing it to Jean.

The warmth of it seeps into his skin. "You brought me food?"

"No, I just gave you a box so you could hold it. Yes Jean, that's food for you."

"But I didn't tell you I was on break, or that I didn't bring any lunch."

Nino smiles. "I thought I'd try my luck."

Jean's heart still hasn't calmed down.

"Since I know you don't have a lot of time," Nino says, "I didn't bring a lot of food. Hope that's okay."

 _Of course it's okay; I didn't even ask you to do this._ Jean smiles. "Since it's kinda hot, do you want to eat in my office?"

"Is that allowed when I no longer work here?"

"Who would argue against me?" Jean says, heading inside, Nino's laugh and footsteps following.

All three girls look up when Jean walks inside the office.

"Wow, that was a quick smoke-" Mozu starts, and stops with her mouth hanging open when she sees Nino.

"He's joining me for lunch," Jean says. "Don't mind us."

Nino nods in polite acknowledgment to everyone. The girls are bright-eyed; Knot simply waves.

"You look so familiar," Keri says, tapping her chin. "Oh! The photographer at the New Year's party, right?"

Nino smiles, but it doesn't look like the smiles he gives Jean, and he doesn't know what to think of it. "Yes. Sharp memory."

Mozu is about to say something, but Nino turns to Jean, body language angled away from the girls indicating question time was over, and they go inside Jean's office. Jean is thankful, if feeling a bit guilty, Nino did so. _Maybe we shouldn't have eaten inside_ , he thinks, as he gets Nino a chair. _I feel like they're cats and we_ _'re_ _mice._

Nino sits so his back is to the girls beyond the office window, probably on purpose. Though that doesn't deter them from watching and whispering eagerly among themselves. Jean's mouth is set into a thin line.

"Let's eat before it gets cold," Nino says, doing a remarkable job of pretending he doesn't feel three strangers' eyes on him through glass.

 _More like he doesn't care. Not since high school._ Jean exhales sharply in what might be a laugh. "Yeah."

The food is good – as expected of Nino's restaurant inclinations – but Jean doesn't taste it fully because his attention keeps flitting to the girls. _We should have eaten outside_ _, or grabbed a table in the café_ , he thinks. He frowns. _Or I should have closed the blinds._

"Wait, I forgot drinks," Nino says. "Damn. It might be late, but do you want any? I think I saw a vending machine on the way here."

"Yes, but I'll go with you," Jean says. He has the feeling if he stayed, the girls would pepper him with questions.

It's really not a distant walk. They continue with their lunchtime conversation, but Jean cuts in with an apology.

"What are you sorry for?" Nino asks, punching in the numbers for Jean's drink of choice.

"My subordinates." He crosses his arms. "They kept staring at you."

Nino laughs quietly. "That's not something you can control, is it?" Jean's drink rolls out of the machine; Jean takes it. "I hadn't noticed, anyway."

"Huh."

"And I also don't care," Nino finishes, putting in the numbers for his own drink.

Jean uncrosses his arms. "I thought so," he says, smiling.

The machine now rolls out Nino's drink. Jean bends to get it, straightens, and hands it to Nino.

Their eyes meet.

Nino's hand wraps around the cold can. His smile reaches his eyes, wrinkling them at the corners, adding to the small etchings of lines brought on by age. "Thank you."

Realizing he still hasn't let go, Jean releases his grip on the soda and looks quickly at the floor. "Yeah."

They head back and finish their lunch. The girls still shoot curious looks their way. Nino continues to ignore them, talking to Jean like they're the only two people in the world. Falling into conversation with him is effortless. After a while, Jean forgets they aren't actually alone; he only remembers when Nino stands, gathering his trash, saying, "Finished just in time."

 _In time for what?_ Jean almost asks, but. Work. That's where he's at, and what he was to resume.

"I can throw away your trash too, on my way out," Nino says.

"It's okay, I can do it," Jean says. "I'll walk you out."

They toss their trash away and go outside. It's gotten warmer. The sun glints off the glass of the building, and Jean looks away. Looks to Nino.

Jean runs a hand through his hair. "Thank you for bringing me food and keeping me company."

"You're welcome. Sorry about making you waste that cigarette."

Jean's lips quirk upward. "I told you, it's fine. You were-" He cuts himself off.

"I was what?"

"Nothing," Jean mumbles. _'You were a surprise but not one I would ever complain about.' Why would I say that?_

"Okay," Nino says, skeptical. "Well. Have a good rest of the day, Jean."

"I'm at work, but I'll try."

Nino chuckles and walks away, hands in pockets.

Not for the first time, Jean wonders how Nino isn't burning up in all that black. Smiling a bit to himself, he returns to work.

He is immediately met by the three girls, crowding at the door, smiling like cats who have caught the mice after all.

"So," says Keri.

"Your photographer friend," says Atori.

"What's his name?" says Mozu.

"Nino," Jean answers, making his way through them as he heads to his desk. "You shouldn't have stared at him like you did."

They do not look ashamed. "He's really handsome!" says Mozu.

He thinks of that crinkly smile. "Yes. He's always been popular."

"Is he seeing anyone?" Atori asks.

"No," he says, and sensing where this is going, adds, "and he's not interested in dating. Why are we talking about this? Let's get to work."

"Yes, sir!" They scatter to their desks.

Jean leans back against his chair, face up to the ceiling. _Nino, dating someone_... _I even suggested it to him_ , he remembers suddenly. _He didn't care about it, but we're getting old. Most people our age are already married. He could change his mind._

Despite having just eaten, his stomach is hollow. 

* * *

The thought hasn't left his mind three days later, when he's leaving work to go meet Nino for drinks.

 _Some couples_ _end_ _up_ _meet_ _ing_ _in_ _bars, don't they?_ he thinks out of the blue. He stops mid-stride. _What if I've kept Nino from meeting someone he could... date... by hogging him all the time?_ _I think he even said he didn't have 'much' of an interest in dating, not that it was entirely impossible._ _I_ _f he was interested in someone, would he not tell me to keep me company_ _because he knows I don't have anyone else_ _?_ He starts walking again, faster.

"You look tired," Nino says as Jean slides in the booth.

"Work was busy." And he'd speedwalked.

Nino motions to the wine bottle in front of him. "Wanna forget about it all?"

He sighs. "Yeah."

They order their food. Jean raises his glass to his lips and takes a small sip, eyeing Nino over the rim.

Nino notices. "What?" he says, sounding amused.

Jean sets the glass down, lips pursed. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Nino blinks his surprise away. He smiles with a fondness that almost makes Jean forget why he'd said anything. "I know."

There. Jean settles into his seat, smiling himself. _Why did I doubt him?_ _If something happened, I'd be the first to know._ _We've known each other for years and put the other first._

"What's that smile about?" Nino asks.

"I was just thinking."

"About?"

"That we're getting old."

"That's something to smile about?"

"We have each other, like always. So it's okay." Jean swirls his wine. He stares intently at it. "I'm really glad you're in my life, Nino."

"You've had, like, one sip of alcohol."

Jean looks up, frowning. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Never mind."

Their food arrives.

Nino grabs a cube of cheese and holds it up in front of him. "I'm glad you're in my life, too."

"Are you talking to me or the cheese?"

Nino laughs. The lines around his eyes, around his mouth, are so nicely defined. "I'll let you guess," he says, popping the cheese in his mouth.

Jean hides a smile behind his glass. Nino drinks, and Jean's eyes fall to his throat, watching it work. It's kind of hypnotic. Normally Nino conceals it with a turtleneck, but not today; his button-up shirt isn't done all the way, and Jean notes the curves and angles, the tendons and muscles of Nino's strong throat. Jean takes a sudden drink and swallows harshly, making him wince. He splutters out a cough. He holds up a hand, in a silent _I'm okay_ gesture, before Nino asks.

"Swallowed my drink weird," he explains once he can talk.

"Don't be so eager to get drunk that quick," Nino teases. "Then who will I talk to?"

"Anyone else in the bar?"

Nino does a big show of thinking about it before saying, "No."

Jean laughs a little. _No wonder we're friendless_ _, much less single_ _._ He nibbles on a chicken wing. _I can't imagine how a date with Nino would be like._

"You can drink away without worry," Nino says. "You're also fun to talk to drunk."

Jean drinks his wine, embarrassed. He sets the glass down carefully. "Would I really talk about Mauve that much?"

Nino's smile falters less than a second. "Yeah."

"Sorry," Jean says, and means it.

"Why? You liked her. I'm supposed to listen to that kind of thing."

"I did, but..." Jean trails off, thinking. "It just seems really shallow, looking back on it. She's smart, and pretty, but we weren't compatible at all."

"Hmm," Nino says, the corner of his lip turned up.

"What do I talk about when I'm drunk now?"

"Anything, really. You ramble." Nino's expression is very fond. "Half the time I don't know what it's about, and I don't think you do either, but you're very passionate about it."

Jean puts a hand on his face as if that will hide his creeping blush.

"You don't need to be embarrassed," Nino says. "Your ramblings are cu- uh, endearing?" Suddenly Nino doesn't sound that confident.

Jean peeks at him through his fingers, feeling red down to his toes, because it seemed like Nino was about to say 'cute.' Nino's ears are barely tinged pink, and he's busy looking at something off to the side.

Jean bites the inside of his lower lip. _I don't know what to say to that._ "Thank... you," he says, lamely. He downs the rest of his wine. "The wine's good," he tries, pouring himself more.

"Had we not had it before?"

"I don't think so."

Nino grabs the bottle, reading the label. "Yeah, I don't know either," he admits, and that gets a small laugh out of Jean.

There's no reason anymore for Nino to goad Jean into drinking, but the two of them get into a drinking contest anyway.

Jean doesn't win. _Obviously,_ he thinks, head down on his arms. "Nino, 's your stomach made'f steel?" he slurs.

"No, it's... how does that rhyme go?" Nino says, grinning, not fully sober. "'Mud and snails and puppy dogs' tails?'"

Jean, with some effort, looks at him. "I think the first word starts with an 's'."

"Is it snails and snails? Double the snails, it's what boys are made from."

It's not even funny, but they both laugh. Everything is funny after having drunk that much. Everything is carefree.

"Doesn't matter," Jean says. "You're not made'f gross stuff like that. What's the girl one? 'Sugar and spice and everythin' nice'?" He smiles, and it probably looks dumb, but who cares. "That's you."

"No, that's you. I'm not very nice."

Jean tilts his head. A strand of hair falls in his eyes. "You are to me."

The smile Nino gives Jean is enough to make him forget to breathe in.

"Your eyes," Jean says, all the air going out of him.

"What about them?"

"When you smile, they crinkle. It looks nice."

Nino's hand goes to the corner of his right eye. "Don't everyone's?"

"I dunno. Yours are the ones I like."

Nino lowers his hand, smile turned pink and shy, and now Jean's exhale is stuck in his throat.

Nino insists on paying, and rather than drag themselves into an argument, Jean lets him. As they walk home, Jean uses Nino for support. His hand on Nino's arm feels the soft and thin cotton of his shirt and the tight muscle beneath it. Jean's steps aren't as wobbly as he thought they would be, but he still holds on to Nino.

 _Just in case_ , he thinks, fingers curling further on Nino's bicep.

Nino escorts him all the way up to his apartment door. Jean, hesitantly, lets go of his arm to get the door open, which he succeeds in after a bit of fumbling. He turns to Nino.

"Thank you," he says. "I had fun."

"Of course. Same time next week?"

"I can't 'member my work schedule right now." Jean rubs his eyes. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Okay. Rest easy, Jean."

"You too, Nino."

"I'm not as hammered as you, but thanks."

"Sorry we don't all have your alcohol tolerance."

"I accept your apology."

Jean gets a strong hold on the doorknob for balance as he lightly kicks Nino.

"Okay, okay," Nino laughs. "I'll go now. Night."

"G'night."

Jean watches him until he gets in the elevator, giving him one last wave before the doors come to a close. A smile still on his face, he closes his own door and leans against it, a sudden thought shining bright through the haze of intoxication.

_A date with Nino would probably look like tonight._

 


	5. Chapter 5

Like wading from the bottom of a swamp up to the surface, Jean murkily rouses from slumber. The light coming in rectangles through the blinds is too bright to be morning light. He groans, flipping on his side to avoid the sun, but the motion of turning makes him queasier. He folds his pillow about him, as if that will shut out further sensory perceptions that overload him.

 _This is always the downside to drinking_ , he groggily thinks, closing his eyes to try to summon back sleep.

It doesn't return. He lays there anyway, thinking of nothing, feeling everything: the light is too strong, the pillow too scratchy, the headache too nauseating, the memories from last night too-

Too what? Jean opens his eyes. He lets go of the pillow. _Last night_ _.._. Last night, he had gone drinking with Nino. Nothing unusual about that. Nino had soundly kicked his ass at drinking. Again, nothing unusual. Nino had smiled _that_ smile and it was really nice and so Jean told him. _Ah_. The side of his face resting on the pillow burns a hole through it. He might have been too honest last night.

Slowly, with another groan, he sits up. He eyes the time. Indeed, it's well past noon. He briefly considers staying in bed all day, given he's been there long enough, but a twinge of hunger changes his mind.

He shuffles into the kitchen. It's empty, but a spot of color on the counter catches his eye. A note from Lotta, saying she went out to do some shopping but should be back in a few hours, and that there's food in the fridge.

 _Thank goodness for Lotta_ , he thinks, opening the fridge to find a wrapped plate of pancakes, which he heats up in the microwave. Cooking is currently outside his capabilities.

He puts the plate on the living room table and sits down in front of the television, turning it on just in time for a commercial for a fast food chain. It shows two people eating there, having a good time.

He thinks, _I wonder what Nino's doing right now_.

Then he thinks, _Why did this remind me of Nino?_

And _then_ _,_ shoving a large piece of pancake in his mouth, he thinks, _Of course this reminded me of Nino._

The shape of Nino's well-toned arm comes to Jean's fingers. They twitch. With his other hand, Jean clamps them down. But he can do nothing about the memory of his smile; it's etched behind his lids, leaving after-images regardless of whether his eyes are open or closed.

The motion on the television makes his head throb, so he turns it off, eating microwaved pancakes in front of a black screen, looking like hell. If Nino could see him, he'd probably laugh at him. Jean feels the ghost of a smile. _I_ _am_ _kind of a funny-but-sad sight._

After his breakfast, and downing two glasses of water on top of a mug of coffee, he briefly stands there, lost. _I feel like I was supposed to do something but forgot_ , Jean thinks. He massages his temples, willing the headache away. _Well, I'll remember. Probably._

Having the day off, and not feeling like doing anything, he crawls back into bed, facing away from the sun. He closes his eyes, awaiting slumber, even if dry and dreamless. Reality blurs, and a familiar shape is saying _Same time next week?_ in a throaty, low voice.

Jean sits up, momentarily dizzy and pink. _I_ _'m supposed_ _to text Nino._

The bluish-white light from his phone is even harsher than that of the sun, and he squints at the screen. He checks his work schedule and then texts Nino. 

 _I'm free at the same time next week._  

He's not expecting a reply, and tosses his phone on his bedside drawer. It buzzes as soon as it hits the wood, the amplified sound hurting his head.

He grabs it and reads, 

 _Alright. How are you holding up?_  

Jean smiles. 

_I feel awful but that's my own fault. Looking at the screen hurts my eyes._

 

 _Want to switch to a call?_  

A call. There was more to say. But when wasn't there, with the two of them? 

 _Okay._  

"Maybe we shouldn't do any more drinking contests," Jean says, accepting the call. He flips on his back.

Nino chuckles. Throaty and low. "They can hardly be called contests, anyway, when we both know I will always win."

"Yeah, but they're fun."

"Until you get to these consequences the next day."

"Mmm."

"Want me to bring you anything?"

Jean glances at his phone by his ear, as if Nino is actually beside him. "Aren't you dying yourself?"

"No. I'm a little thirsty, but that's it."

Jean lets out a long, quiet exhale. "I'm alright. Sleep, water, and time is all I need. Thanks, though."

"Sure." His voice gets lower. "I'll let you sleep. Talk to you later."

Jean's ear tingles. "Okay. Thanks. Bye."

They hang up. Jean puts his phone away, carefully now, and closes his eyes, the familiar shape from before becoming clearer, whispering words in his ear that whisk him further and further to sleep.

He's at a fast food chain with that familiar shape sitting next to him, talking to him, sharing food with him. Jean leans on their arm, looking up to that smile that could break through clouds, which gets close to his face and closer and closer still, and then Jean is not at a fast food chain with someone but alone in his room, blinking awake.

 _What_ , he thinks, throwing an arm over his forehead, wanting his mattress to envelop him, _was that?_

Lotta peeks her head inside his room then. "You're up! Did I wake you?"

"No," he says, getting out of bed. "I didn't hear you."

"Oh, good." She puts her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me you've been asleep all day, though."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Not all day... I had those pancakes you left me."

She sighs.

He looks at the clock on his bedside table. He'd slept two more hours; it had felt like two minutes.

"I can smell the alcohol on you from this distance!" she says. "Shower and then we can have lunch."

Jean didn't feel like the older brother sometimes. Like now. "Okay."

He's so distracted during his shower he washes his body twice. He'd asked himself what his dream had been about, but deep down, he knows. He just doesn't want to think about it.

He needs to.

 _I know Nino's attractive_ , _even if I've never been attracted to him myself,_ he thinks. The water runs in cool rivulets down his skin. _Except that's not so true anymore, is it?_

Jean turns to face the showerhead, forming a cup with his hands, allowing water to pool in them. He splashes his face. Covers it with his hands. _I told him his smile was nice_ _. I really liked holding his arm. And I dreamed about him._ _I can't get him out of my head, in fact._ He uncovers his face and turns off the shower. He steps out, drying himself.

 _I can't have a crush on my only friend_ , he thinks. The thought alone turns his face pink. _But it being a crush, it should go away soon._

He hopes, anyway.

He spends the rest of the day in a sort of daze, stuck between his daily life and thinking about his predicament. He doesn't even hear Lotta call his name until she's tapping his shoulder. He blinks at her.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concerned. "You're even spacier than usual."

"Just... lost in thought," he says. It's not a lie.

"Could you go to Mugimaki and get bread? I forgot to stop by earlier."

He doesn't feel very sick anymore. A walk would help calm him down, he thinks. "Yeah." 

* * *

He recites Lotta's order quietly to himself, the late weekend evening drinking up the sound of his voice. He repeats it to the shop owner, receives his bread, and walks out.

Having nothing to focus on, his mind drifts back to Nino. His hand tightens on the bag.

 _I feel like a schoolgirl_ , he thinks, dejectedly. _An old schoolgirl._ Is this how all the girls in high school chasing after Nino felt?

No.

 _They liked him for his looks; they didn't know him like I do. They didn't know that he's forgetful_ _yet_ _attentive. Or that he's dependable to the core. Or that once you get to know him, it's easy to talk with him, and to laugh with him, and that it never gets tiring. Or that he can be stubborn, especially when it comes to putting others before himself, which makes you worry about him-_

Jean halts and almost drops his bag. _Is that Nino over there?_

Someone is on a bench, lumpy bag beside them, looking down on what appears to be a camera. It could be any photographer. But the way the streetlamp casts its light leaves them with the exact warm colors, the exact cool shadows Nino would have were it him.

Jean keeps walking to get a better view. If it's not Nino, he'll still be on the right way home; if it is... well.

"It _is_ you," Jean mumbles.

Nino turns his head up, confusion melting when he sees who it is. "Jean, hey. Again."

"Again," Jean echoes.

Nino's attention is back on his camera. "Could be we're always bound to run into each other."

Jean looks at a distant spot behind Nino. "It could be." He turns his eyes back to him. "Is that your photography equipment?"

"Yeah. Left a shoot some time ago."

"This late?"

"The light before sunset is ideal for photography." Nino moves his bag close to him. "Wanna sit?"

He should be going. Instead, he sits, Nino's bag dividing them.

"What was the shoot for?" Jean says.

"An engagement."

Jean leans back on the bench. "Ah."

"I was going through the pictures. They turned out very nice. I don't like engagement shoots as much because they're usually similar – there's only so many poses where you can flaunt a ring or kiss your fiancé – but I quite like these. I don't think they'll require much editing."

"Shouldn't you go home to do that?"

"I should." He grabs his bag and stands. "Shouldn't you go home to eat that bread before it gets cold?"

Jean smiles. "I should."

They don't need to suggest they walk home together. It is implicit.

"Need any help with that?" Jean offers, motioning to Nino's bag with his head.

"No, thanks. It's not heavy. You're carrying something yourself, anyway."

They lapse into silence. Nino is to Jean's right. Jean's right arm is free, as is Nino's left. If they were walking a little closer together, their hands could brush, and it'd be fine.

Nino puts his left hand in his pocket.

Jean casts his eyes back in front of him, trying not to show his disappointment for the remainder of their walk.

Usually they part ways at this intersection, each headed to their apartment, but Nino keeps walking by Jean.

He's not so disappointed anymore.

They walk right up to Jean's building entrance, the lights from the lobby bathing the awning in front of it. In the corner sits a cat as prim as the security guard on the other side of the glass. Jean nods to the guard in acknowledgment. The security guard makes a move to open the door for him, but Jean shakes his head.

When he turns his head around, he sees Nino crouching by the cat, scratching it behind the ears. The cat's little back arches in a stretch and it bumps into Nino's hand, making him laugh.

 _Cute_ , Jean thinks, and he doesn't know if he means the friendly cat or Nino.

Nino stands as the cat darts away. "You should hire security guards like that, too," he tells Jean.

"I'll think about it." Jean smiles. "Thanks for walking me."

"Any time." He starts walking away. "Enjoy your bread."

"Want some?" Jean blurts when Nino's on the second step down.

"Want what, bread?"

"Yeah."

Now Nino smiles. "I have some at home I bought a few days ago, but thank you." He descends the rest of the squat stairs, then wheels around. "Goodnight, Jean. Tell Lotta I said hi, too."

He nods. "Goodnight, Nino."

Jean watches him go, the way he says Nino's name still tingling in his lips.

And he thinks, his heart stuttering, _No one knows him like I do._


	6. Chapter 6

Lotta practically bounces inside the apartment, swinging her schoolbag. "Summer vacation!" she says, closing the door.

"Hello to you too," Jean says, smiling up from his book.

"Sorry, sorry. Hi, Jean. I'm just so excited!"

Jean sets his book down with a sigh. "Treasure it while you can. Adults don't get summer vacation. I wish we did."

"I know." Lotta busies herself in the kitchen, searching for a snack. "You should ask for some time off, though! Like, a week is fine. We should go somewhere."

"Hmm. Where do you want to go?"

"The beach!"

"I don't need a week off for that. Badon is an island; we can go some weekend."

"Nooo," Lotta whines, "not here! Hare, or even Peshi!"

He raises an eyebrow. "That's expensive."

"We deserve a treat every once in a while. Come on, we can go during July and celebrate Nino's birthday in another district as a present to him but also us!"

Jean uncrosses his legs, considering it.

"If anyone deserves a vacation," Lotta continues, eyes eager, "it's Nino."

 _That's certainly true_ , Jean thinks. And it would mean time specifically with Nino. A hotel room with Nino. A beach-side walk with Nino. Nino in swimwear.

"We'll go to Peshi. Hare would be more crowded because everyone else would have the same idea to vacation there, I think."

Lotta cheers, running up to hug him. "Thank you, Jean!"

"Don't tell Nino."

She skips away to her room. "I won't; it'd ruin the surprise!"

 _Though h_ _e could also be too polite and refuse that we spend money on him_ , Jean thinks, frowning. Even for all the time they've known each other, and all the old secrets now unburied, sometimes Nino does not act like he is free of his royal duties. Otuses first, himself last. _We need to show him he's important to us, too, if by the skin of our teet_ _h._ The problem would be in how. Telling Nino to make no plans for the first week of July would be too obvious. On the other hand, neither would Jean barge into Nino's apartment the day of the flight and demand Nino immediately pack for a week-long trip.

 _Before we get too excited, I should find out if he has plans then_ , he decides. They can work around them if so. He'll have to casually bring it up sometime when they go out.

 _We'll see_ _tomorrow, when we go out to eat_ , he thinks, reaching for his book again, willing the flutter of excitement in him to be still. 

* * *

Jean is only half paying attention to the morning news, more preoccupied by spreading jam evenly on his toast, but then he hears the word 'subway' and he looks up from his breakfast. The ticker on the bottom of the screen says that certain lines are undergoing routine maintenance, won't commuters please take these alternate routes at decreased costs due to the inconvenience. Among the affected lines is his own.

"Good thing you caught this before you left," Lotta says, waving at the screen with a butter knife.

"I don't know if I'll take the subway," he says. The alternate routes will be more packed in fitting more people than they're used to.

"The bus, then?"

He shrugs. "I guess."

It takes him longer to get to work this way, but he has little choice.

Or so he thinks.

Hours later after his shift, the maintenance is not yet complete, and he doesn't feel like riding the bus again, mostly because he's not exactly sure what bus will take him nearest the restaurant he's meeting Nino at.

 _Nino_. It comes to him then.

The beeps of an unanswered phone fill Jean's ear, as does the sound of his heartbeat.

"Sorry for the wait; I was just about to leave," Nino says when he picks up.

Jean licks his lips. "Could you pick me up from work?"

"...on my bike?"

"Yeah. If it wouldn't be too much of a bother," Jean hastily mumbles, tips of his ears warm.

"It's not. But are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll be fine."

Shuffling on Nino's end. "Alright, I'll be there soon." And is that excitement? "I have a spare helmet somewhere."

"Thank you, Nino," Jean says, hearing the smile in his own voice. "I'll be waiting."

He doesn't wait that long. It mildly worries him.

"You didn't speed, did you?" he asks Nino as he removes his helmet. The movement fluffs his hair.

"No, don't worry. I can maneuver where cars can't is all." Nino pushes his sunglasses up to that fluffy hair, which settles neatly beneath the glasses. He grins, tossing Jean an extra helmet. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Jean says, wondering why his heart hasn't leaped out of his throat yet.

He gets on the motorcycle and puts on the helmet, which perfectly fits him. Of course it does. Nino might know him better than Jean knows himself. _Except this one thing_ , Jean thinks, wrapping his arms around Nino, hoping Nino doesn't notice the slight tremble in his hands.

Nino half turns. "Does the helmet fit?"

The sides of it snugly squeeze his cheeks, and he doesn't think he could coherently talk, so Jean gives a thumbs up.

"Great. I won't go too fast, but if you want me to slow down, poke me twice."

Another thumbs up.

Nino puts his sunglasses and helmet back on. He prods the kickstand away, revs the motorcycle, leans forward, and they're off.

Right away a thrill runs through Jean's veins. Exposed to the elements, pressed against Nino's back, a mechanical purr passing from the bike's engine to his legs and up his body. His head thumps from it all.

Traffic hasn't been so heavy, and all the traffic lights have been green, with Nino weaving through the streets of Badon like he was born on his bike. Now they roll to a stop along the sidewalk in front of the restaurant as Nino parks. He turns off the engine, and that should be Jean's cue to slide off, but he doesn't.

 _I didn't want it to end_ , he thinks, reluctantly letting go when Nino stands up.

Nino takes off his helmet and pockets his sunglasses. "So how was it?" he asks, looking at something off to the side.

Jean also takes off his helmet and attempts to smooth down his hair. "I had fun," he says, a helpless smile playing on his lips.

Nino meets his eyes and matches Jean's own smile.

"What do I do with the helmet?" Jean asks.

"I normally lock mine to the bike, but we'll lock yours," Nino says, the leather of his gloves brushing Jean's fingertips as he reaches for it, grabbing it. "And I'll take mine inside."

"Okay," Jean says, fingertips pulsing.

Nino secures the helmet to the bike. He turns to Jean, who's still sitting, with a gloved hand outstretched.

Jean takes it, his entire arm pulsing.

Their usual spot inside the restaurant is available, so they sit there. A wave of familiarity washes over Jean. He could almost forget the mess that are his feelings about Nino. Almost.

The waitress asks them if they'd like to order their drinks first. The name of a wine is at the tip of Jean's tongue, but he swallows it back. Nino, being the driver, can't drink. He shouldn't, either.

"Water, please," he says, which Nino echoes.

When the waitress walks away, Nino raises an eyebrow at him. "No alcohol?"

"You can't have any; it wouldn't be fair."

"I really don't mind if you drink when I can't."

"Well, I do."

Nino looks at him a moment. Then he smiles. "I see." He shrugs off his jacket and gloves, putting them in a lumpy heap beside him. His long-sleeved shirt isn't a turtleneck, for once, and so Jean's eyes are drawn to his throat. How would it feel like to kiss it?

The waitress returns with their water.

Jean takes a hearty sip of his. The ice, clinking as it gathers at the top, is cold enough it burns. Nino orders his food meanwhile. When Jean sets his glass back down, he orders too. The waitress leaves again, looking a little amused.

"Doesn't all that you wear make you hot?" Jean asks Nino, louder than intended.

"No."

"Really?"

Nino motions at Jean. "You have a black, long-sleeved uniform, and you're fine, aren't you?"

"Mostly," Jean mumbles, loosening his collar.

Nino chuckles. "It's not even summer yet. Better get used to it."

 _Summer_. There it is, Jean's key to direct the conversation in the direction he needs. "Summer's only about a week away. It's basically already here. Then it'll be your birthday."

"Happy to see you're good with a calendar."

"Do you have anything planned for your birthday?"

Nino shrugs. "Same as always. Chocolate or a pastry of some sort, and lunch with you and Lotta."

"Hmm." Jean sips his water, hoping that hides his grin. "I think you should keep that week free. No photography shoots or anything. Unless you already had some booked," he adds, only thinking of it now, a frown tugging at his mouth.

"I don't, but you want me to reserve the _week_? I have a birth _day_ , not birth week."

"You're getting old and need more rest."

"You jerk."

They share a laugh; they might tease each other, but it's never serious. The support they have for each other is engraved in two small scars on Nino's back.

The smile solemnly fades from Jean. He looks at Nino, who's fiddling with a napkin.

 _Of all the people it could have been that watched over me_ , he thinks, _it was someone I genuinely_ _fe_ _el_ _at ease with_ _. Someone whose friendship outweigh_ _s_ _all else._ He rests his cheek on his palm. Feels how warm it is.

"Done," Nino mumbles.

Jean blinks. He glances down and sees that the napkin Nino's been messing with is folded into-

"A heart?"

"I wanted to see if I could," Nino says, eyes still on the heart. "Guess so."

Jean swallows and hears the uncomfortable sound of it in his ears.

Just in time, the food arrives. Nino slides the folded heart off to the side. Jean makes a mental note to grab it before they leave, when Nino's not looking.

After dinner, he's about to do exactly that, but feels a pang of guilt at just taking it without permission.

"Hey, Nino," he says.

Nino is buttoning his leather jacket. "Hmm?"

"What about the heart?"

"You can just leave it there. Maybe the waitress will like it."

Now he feels another pang, but this time of... annoyance? Jealousy? Something petty. "Could I have it?"

Nino stops what he's doing. He looks up at Jean, surprised.

"For Lotta," Jean quickly adds. He nervously sets his tongue between his teeth.

"Sure," Nino says, slowly doing up the rest of the buttons. "There wasn't much to it, though."

"It's okay." Jean grabs it and carefully pockets it. "Thank you."

Outside, they gear up. They ride with the setting sun to their right, the long shadows it casts flickering by. The evening is cool, but Nino is warm. Jean's hold on him tightens the slightest. If it weren't for the bulkiness of his helmet, he'd probably have tried to rest his head against him.

 _And I didn't drink alcohol,_ Jean thinks.

They're in front of Jean's building before he knows it. Nino shuts off the engine, and this time – because he has to – Jean slides off. He removes the helmet and hands it to Nino, who straps it to the back.

"Thank you again," Jean says, putting his hands in his pockets, lightly thumbing the folded napkin. "For the ride. For being my company." _For letting me keep the heart._

Nino's taken his helmet off too, and flips it in taut arcs. "No problem," he says. "You know I'm happy to do that."

Jean pinches the napkin in his pocket.

 _Flip. Flip_. "You're planning something for my birthday, aren't you?"

Jean huffs an exhale. "Yes."

"Then I'll be sure to do nothing that week." Nino smiles. In the waning light, it is harder to see, yet it still makes Jean's throat constrict. "I'm already looking forward to it." He puts his helmet back on. The motorcycle comes to life as he turns the ignition on, and with one last small wave at Jean, Nino is gone.

The moment Nino disappears from view, Jean darts inside the building, has the longest elevator ride of his life, promptly walks into his apartment, and flops backwards on his bed. He takes the heart out from his pocket and holds it up, the ceiling behind it growing fuzzy as he focuses on the heart instead. There's no deep meaning behind it. Just a prettily folded napkin, done on a whim.

His own heart doesn't care, though. Thinking of tonight batters his rib cage.

He can still feel Nino's impression: on his stomach that had been flat against Nino's back, and on his hands that had wrapped around the whole of him. He can still see all the little changes in Nino's expression. He can still hear the gritty, honeyed tones of Nino's voice and laugh. So much Nino.

 _Not enough_ , Jean thinks, face flushed, heat flowing between his legs. Nino has been by his side long enough that a perfect copy of him resides in Jean's mind, a copy he thinks of now, behind closed eyes, as his hand slides beneath his boxers. And in his mind is what Nino would whisper if this were really him; oh, it'd be all the right things, just as he'd know exactly how to touch him – _fuck_ , like that – to get Jean so lightheaded, wonderfully so, and to feed the fire burning in his skin longing for Nino, wanting to be pinned so close to him they melt together; all of Nino for Jean and all of Jean for Nino, Nino, Nino-

Shuddered, blissful release. His breathing is ragged. He opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling until the high wears off. He should be calm then. He should be able to think logically about his turbid emotions as of late. They may even vanish, now that he's acted on them.

Eventually, his breathing is silent and easy.

And he thinks, with a mind clear as water, _I want Nino_. 

* * *

Jean's been looking through so many Peshi hotels that his eyes are swimming. To his right is a small notebook, comparisons between the best hotels thus far scribbled on its pages. There is price and location and amenities to consider. If it were for himself, he wouldn't care, but this is for Nino. He has to pick exactly right. He blinks, bringing his vision back into focus, scrolling through yet another website.

"Not done yet?" Lotta asks, setting down a glass of lemonade next to him.

He turns away from the laptop to face her, wearily shaking his head. "There's a lot to choose from."

"Well, what do you have so far?"

"This." He hands her his notes.

She reads over them. "Did any of these have a view of the ocean?"

"Yeah, one."

"Then we'll stay there!" she says, handing him back the notebook.

"You say this with the confidence of someone who's paying for it," Jean says with a smile.

"If money's an issue, I can help! I don't have much, but we can't go to Peshi and have a city view. We have that here!"

"We border the ocean, too."

"But it's not _Peshi's_ part of the ocean. I read the water there is a blue so deep and pretty there's no paint that matches it! Ours is kinda blue-gray. And I wouldn't swim in it, at least not in the city."

It would be nice, wouldn't it, to wake up to the ocean outside the window. The sunrise and sunset would be a sight to behold. And to photograph. "I'll book it," he says.

Later, he texts Nino: 

 _Our flight to Peshi leaves July 5 at 10:10 am and our return flight is July 8 at 2:00 pm. I've booked everything already._  

Not even a minute after sending it his phone buzzes with an incoming call.

Nino.

"Jean, are you telling me you paid for my flight, too?" he asks. "This is a lot of money already. I thought we were staying local, not going to another district; this is-"

"What you deserve," Jean interjects.

In the brief silence he can hear the blood rush in his ears.

"Thank you," Nino says, sounding faraway, "for doing this."

"It's the least I can do," Jean says, fiddling with his bangs. "I'll get a cab and we'll pick you up to go to the airport."

Nino lets out a long breath, and Jean can sense part of Nino wants to politely insist that Jean also let him contribute money.

So Jean adds, "I'm definitely going to buy you more things. You should get used to it."

"I didn't say anything."

"You thought it."

A short, soft laugh. "Yeah, I did."

"You've given me a lot of yourself over the years," Jean says quietly, a lock of hair curling around his finger, now uncurling. "I should give back, too."

"I didn't really hear what you said."

"It was nothing." He flattens his bangs in a hurry. "I should... be going."

They exchange goodbyes and hang up.

Jean brings the phone to his chest, which can barely keep in his heart. He needs to be careful with his tongue. Nino is easy to talk to, but this might be a problem for once. Feelings have to be put aside. Their vacation in Peshi will be lighthearted fun. It will be their usual get-togethers, just in another district, for an extended period of time.

Feelings have to be put aside.


	7. Chapter 7

Jean hoists their suitcases in the trunk of the taxi then slides in the back, where Lotta is already waiting. He gives the driver Nino's address, one of the few he knows by heart. It's a short drive that is made long by Jean's quiet nervousness. He has a rough plan for what they will do in Peshi, with some room for anything Nino wants to add, but what if Nino likes none of Jean's ideas? What if he doesn't even like Peshi? Maybe he should have picked Dowa; it's where Nino's from, and it surely holds memories-

The taxi rolls to a stop. Jean looks out the window and sees Nino waiting on the sidewalk with his suitcase and a messenger bag. Nino sees him in turn. They exchange small smiles.

Jean steps out of the car. "Have you been out here long?"

"No. You said to be out here by eight, so I walked out like two minutes ago." He rubs his eyes. "Can you open the trunk for me?"

"Sure." He does so, and wordlessly offers to put Nino's things inside, but Nino shakes his head and does it himself. He closes the trunk and motions for Jean to go in the taxi first. The moment Nino slides in after him, Jean asks the driver to go to the airport.

Jean looks at the time on his phone. It's a few minutes past eight. They're good on time. The airport is about a forty-minute ride, and with all that must be done prior to boarding, after that's through they shouldn't have to wait too long until boarding.

They're in the departure gate about thirty minutes before boarding for their flight is called. Lotta can barely hold in her excitement. Nino looks... tired. Has been since they picked him up.

Once they shuffle in their flight seats, Jean asks him if he got enough sleep last night.

"Not really," Nino says, blinking drowsily. He props an elbow on the armrest and lays his cheek on his palm. "But this is a long flight. I can nap."

 _That_ _position_ _can't be comfortable_ , Jean thinks.

Lotta, sitting by the window, leans forward to address Nino. "Nino, you should have told me you were going to sleep on the way! I would have brought my travel pillow for you."

"It's not that big a deal," Nino says, smiling. "I can manage like this for a few hours."

A thought comes to Jean. He bites the inside of his lower lip to keep from speaking it. It doesn't work. "You can rest your head on my shoulder, if you like."

Nino's eyes flick to meet Jean's. "Are you sure?"

 _More than you know._ "Yes." He shifts in his seat. "I'm not that uncomfortable. Probably."

Nino slowly angles his body toward Jean and, crossing his arms, carefully leans on him. The weight and warmth of Nino are like a blanket, if covering just his shoulder.

Nino hums noncommittally, and Jean can feel it down to his bones. "You're right," Nino says. "Not uncomfortable."

Jean can't see Nino's face like this, but Nino is certainly smirking.

Then Nino turns his head up, tufts of his hair tickling Jean's jaw. Just a few centimeters to the side is Jean's pulse point. If Nino looked closer, he would see how frantically the delicate skin there beats. But his eyes are not there. They are even on Jean's.

Which might be worse.

"What if you need to sleep?" Nino asks, at a distance where all Jean needs to do is dip his head to kiss him.

Immediately he looks away, lightheaded. He swallows thickly. "I won't. I'm not tired."

"Like I said, this is a long flight. You might nap out of boredom."

"I'll be fine. I brought a book." Though he might not be able to focus on it at all.

"Well, okay." Nino rests his head on him again. "But if you do, you can lean back on me, too."

While Jean is able to complete the book, he does not know what actually happened in it. 

* * *

There is no glitz and glamour to Peshi. It is a fairly simple district, reliant on its waters for fisheries that feed its people and for sightseeing that brings over other districts' people. The houses along the rocky coast are colorful and folksy, boasting little variation in their architecture. It adds to the charm, Jean thinks.

Their hotel is slightly more modern in appearance, but the decor inside reflects the character of the district. Wood and stone in rustic yet tasteful fashion.

Nino whistles lowly as they walk in.

"I picked this place!" Lotta says, proud.

"Very good choice."

"This wasn't the reason, though. Wait 'til you see our suite!"

"Suite?" Nino looks at Jean. "We're not in separate rooms?"

"I thought all of us being together would be more... right," Jean explains, hand curling worriedly on his suitcase's handle. "Should I not have? I should have asked if you were alr-"

"No, it's fine; it's absolutely fine, I just-" Nino purses his lips. "Never mind." He flashes a quick smile. "Let's check in."

The room's key dangles off a keychain made of a polished stone from Peshi's coastal cliffs. Jean unthinkingly smooths it over with his thumb as they ride the elevator all the way to the top floor.

"Familiar, isn't it?" Nino says.

"How so?"

"We're staying in a large room on the top floor of a nice building. It's like we never left Badon."

Jean smiles. "I hadn't even realized. It wasn't on purpose."

"Oh, I'm sure. That kind of subtlety would be lost with you."

"It would not."

"Mmm," Nino says, the corners of his lips wryly curved in a way Jean doesn't like and also very, very much does.

The elevator dings. They file out and walk to their room. When Jean gets it open, Lotta gasps.

"So pretty!" She rushes in and stops in the middle of the common area, spinning in a circle. "It's exactly like the pictures! And there! There's the balcony with the ocean view!" She bounds over and pulls the fabric blinds aside.

Sunlight bathes the room. Past the balcony lies the blue of the ocean, seemingly close enough to touch.

"I don't know that I have the right to be in a room as fancy as this one," Nino jokes.

"Of course you do, Nino." Jean tugs at his sleeve, leading him inside the suite without looking back at him. _Let me take care of you, for once._

"How are the bedrooms set up?" Lotta asks.

"I think two were next door to each other on this side," Jean answers, gesturing left, "and the other was on the opposite side of the suite."

"That one's mine!" She goes to her room, suitcase rolling rhythmically on the wooden floor.

That was what he had hoped she'd say; he wanted to be by Nino, but was not going to be the one to suggest so. He tries not to look relieved.

"Guess that leaves you and me over there," Nino says, walking to their rooms' direction.

Jean follows him. "I don't mind which room you choose, but I think you might like this one that faces the ocean better." He waits for Nino's decision by the foot of the bed in the first room while Nino heads for the door leading to the other.

"Jean," Nino says, not turning around, "you said this was a three-room suite?"

"Yes, why?"

Nino fully opens the door.

There is not another bedroom, but a bathroom.

Jean's breath in lingers a fraction too long before he nervously lets it go. "I definitely got a suite with three rooms," he says, fumbling for his phone to check the reservation notice. He finds it. It's a typical thank you note for reserving with this particular hotel, and wouldn't he enjoy his two-room suite when he visits. He looks up. "Um."

Of all the ways Nino could react to having to share a bed with Jean, he _laughs_. Jean stares.

"Somehow, this mistake is very like you," Nino says, giving Jean a smile that only makes Jean's face get warmer.

"I'll see if there's a three-room suite available," Jean says, turning around.

"That's not necessary," Nino says. "I mean, ah, I don't mind." He points to the bed. "Sharing it." He clears his throat. "I don't toss in my sleep. I won't bother you."

Jean turns back around slowly, trying to convince himself he's heard this and not just wished it fervently enough that he imagined it.

"And an upgrade would cost more." Nino busies himself with smoothing down the already smooth bed covers. "I don't mind. I don't know about you, though."

 _So this is happening,_ Jean thinks, momentarily dizzy. "It's fine to me." That seems like too little, so he thoughtlessly adds, "I don't toss in my sleep much, either."

Nino smiles. "I know."

He's about to ask how he knows, and then he remembers who has been there when he's had too much to drink. Who's brought him home. Who's stayed there sleeping a sofa away.

The bed is fairly large. They'll each have a comfortable half.

It's going to drive him mad anyway. 

* * *

Because of the flight's length, the three of them are tired. Their bodies are not adjusted to Peshi's earlier time zone either, and what they feel should be afternoon is still morning.

 _It's like we've stolen time,_ Jean thinks, walking along the neat streets as they search for the nearby restaurant the concierge had recommended.

"Right here!" Lotta, who'd been ahead of Jean and Nino, calls. She doesn't wait for them as she goes inside.

The two exchange a smile.

The restaurant is small and homey. There are a good amount of people, but there is still room for the three of them in a corner.

Nino points. "There's outdoor seating, if you want to do that instead."

"Ooh, yes!" Lotta says.

Once their server comes, they ask to be seated outside. It had smelled delicious inside, but outside, the salt and seaweed in the breeze are pleasant on their own.

Normally, when the three of them eat together, Jean sits next to Lotta with Nino in front of them. The tables here are circular, though, so around they go, the most important people to Jean at both of his sides.

The food, unsurprisingly, is seafood. The dishes are prepared the Peshi way, so none of them are too familiar with what they read on the menu, but that's what makes it fun. Everything tastes fresh, fished right out of the ocean peacefully lapping at the shore a dozen meters away, and sharing this with Lotta and Nino adds something else no ingredient can hope to replicate.

Due to jet lag and the filling meal, they decide to return to the hotel and get rest before heading to the beach for an evening walk. Lotta goes to her room, leaving Nino and Jean standing outside their bedroom somewhat awkwardly, given their earlier insistence this arrangement was fine.

Jean crosses his arms, looking at his feet. "I think... I'm going to read more. I brought more books. The windows are larger in the common area, so there's more light." He shifts his weight. "That's where I'll be."

"Okay," Nino says, "I'm going to nap in, um, the bed. Do you have a preference there?"

Jean's head whirls from how quick he turns his head. "What?"

"Like a preference for which half of the bed you want."

"Oh." His arms hang loose. "Not really. Take your pick."

"Then I'll take the left side. Enjoy your book."

With that, Nino leaves. The moment the door clicks quietly shut, Jean sags. _Keep it together_. He grabs his book, which he'd left on the common room table, and curls up on a sofa. Sunlight streams through the sliding glass balcony doors; the ceiling fan silently spins cool air; the sofa is comfortable and springy. He reads the same sentence four times, mind lulling, eyelids growing heavy.

Something tickles him, and he opens his eyes to find the light of evening pouring in the room like liquid gold, and a pillow, whose edges had been what woke him, under his head. He sits up, disoriented from the unwitting loss of time. He looks at the pillow. It's from the bed, not a decorative sofa one.

"You're up!" says Lotta from behind him. She's sitting in the dining room table, browsing her phone.

He turns, rubbing sleep away from his eyes. "Were you waiting for me or something?"

"We got snacky," Lotta says, "so we got some sandwiches. I put yours in the fridge. It was tempting not to eat it; they were really good!"

"Thanks," he says. He looks around, noticing the door to his and Nino's room is open. The bed is empty. "Where's-?"

"He's at the beach taking pictures. I took some too on my phone before coming back up to check on you." She sighs, dreamily. "It's beautiful here. I can't imagine how good Nino's pictures will be!"

Jean shuffles into his shoes. "I'll be down there."

She smiles at him. "Obviously."

Briefly, he wonders if she can read his mind. "What do you mean by that?"

"That's a silly question." Her barefoot legs swing under the table. "But I meant obviously you're going to go where Nino is. That's how the two of you are."

His shoulders relax, and he can't help a smile. "Thank you for the pillow, by the way," he says, hand twisting the doorknob as he heads out.

"The pillow? I didn't do that. I thought you grabbed it before sleeping."

He pauses. He smiles, but not at Lotta. "Back later," he says.

When he is out of the hotel and heading for the beach, it dawns on him how wide it stretches. Nino could be anywhere. Jean didn't bring his phone with him to call Nino, and it's doubtful Nino has his phone on him, either. So, as he walks on the boardwalk, he searches the horizon for a tall, lean figure with a camera around his neck.

The setting sun stretches all shadows. Shielding his eyes, Jean turns his head toward the sun. It dips just above the sea's surface, sending a skittering orange glimmer in a rough line that quivers with the rippling in the water.

Off to the right is a pier. Someone is on it, holding something in front of them.

What is better to a photographer on the beach than a sunset?

Jean walks to the pier. The wood feels unstable, and he steps carefully, purposefully, but not soundlessly. Nino turns around, lowering his camera.

"Was your book as enjoyable when you were sleeping?" he asks, smirking.

"The nap conditions were good," Jean says, stepping out of Nino's shadow that was falling on him to stand beside him. The sea breeze lazily ruffles Jean's hair.

"I'd say. You didn't so much as shift when I put the pillow under your head."

Jean glances down. He toes the pier. "Thank you for that."

"Sure. Wouldn't want you getting neck cramps."

A seagull cries overhead. Jean watches it fly, seemingly toward the sun.

"Did you eat yet?" Nino asks, when the bird's call is distant.

"No, but Lotta said you guys got me food. I'll probably have that later."

"Sorry we couldn't have dinner together. I didn't want to wake you up."

Jean puts his hands in his pockets. "We have the next few days." _And, when we're back in Badon, we have the rest of our days._ "How have your pictures turned out?" he asks, changing the subject for his sake. "You'd told me the light before sunset was best."

Nino perks up. "You remember."

 _Cute_. He nods.

"Well, today was no exception. The shots I got were good, especially for being unplanned, but I'm ready for tomorrow. I'll need to bring my other lenses out here; I didn't even think of that."

Nino's excitement isn't overt, but he's talking faster than normal. Jean's practiced eye knows the excitement is there. _Also cute_ , Jean thinks.

"There's one more shot I want," Nino says. "Then we can go back inside."

"What is it?" Jean asks, just as Nino takes a picture of him.

"Got it," Nino says, peeking at him over his camera.

The sun glows on Jean's skin, but another glow comes from within him as well.

"Don't tell Lotta, but your portrait turned out better."

Jean smiles, running a hand through his hair.

While they return to the hotel, Nino lets Jean go through the pictures he'd taken. There are pictures of the nature around them, and the manmade structures, but most focus on Lotta. Nino is not in a single one.

Jean frowns.

Nino notices. "What's wrong?"

Jean hands him back his camera. The elevator dings and they step inside. "You know you can be in your own pictures, right? Especially when on vacation." He presses the button for their floor. "You're here, too."

"I know I am, which is why I take pictures of what I see. To remember _them_. I don't need to remember myself."

"But the you now will be different from the you that looks at pictures later. Don't you also want to remember that?" Jean's voice drops to a whisper when he adds, "I'd like to."

Nino thumbs the camera strap. "I'll think about it."

"If you won't, I will. I don't have a fancy camera like you, but I do have my phone."

"Maybe I could teach you some basic photography," Nino says, eyes ahead of him, "and you can borrow my camera for whatever you like."

The elevator opens to their floor. They get out.

"I'd like that, too," Jean says, smiling a little.

After Jean eats the food Nino and Lotta had brought back, and some lazing about in the suite, Lotta bids them a goodnight.

"I should go to sleep, too," Nino says, standing up from the sofa next to Jean. He stretches. "Unlike you, I wasn't able to nap much. I'm still tired."

The mellow feelings of the peaceful evening turn to heart-pounding jitters. He'd almost forgotten about the bed they were sharing. "Alright," Jean says. "I'll be quiet when I sneak in."

"Night, then. Don't stay up too late."

"I won't. Goodnight."

He really doesn't; no matter how he tries, his attention keeps drifting from the show buzzing on the TV to what is waiting for him after. Only ten minutes pass like this. They feel like one hundred. Giving up, he shuts off the television, any remaining lights, and walks to the bedroom door.

 _Just open it_ , he tells himself, hand lightly poised on the doorknob. He counts one exhale, one inhale, two exhales, and is breathing in again as he slowly turns the doorknob. He opens the door just wide enough to slide inside, and then just as slowly closes it. The room is quite dark, lit dimly by moonlight filtering in through the sheer cloth of the blinds. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't see Nino. Jean doesn't dare glance his way, though. He tiptoes to the connecting bathroom, holding his breath as he quietly closes that door and turns on the lights. Then he lets himself breathe out.

Thankfully, he's already in pajamas, so he doesn't need to make any noise finding a change of clothes in his suitcase. After brushing his teeth and reminding himself that it's just a bed, Jean steps out.

He waits a moment for his vision to adjust to the dark. The shadowed outlines of the unfamiliar room begin to take shape. Unfamiliar, save for Nino. He is face-up, tilted left, chest evenly rising and falling. In a few cautious strides, Jean reaches the bed, having never taken his eyes off Nino's sleeping form. He's transfixed. Getting beneath the covers, he makes as little movement as possible, and despite the space between them, stays close to the edge. He watches Nino.

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself again, mouth dry, heart working overtime, _it's just a bed_.

He flips on his left side to stare at the wall and to pretend he doesn't know that if he had stretched his arm out, he could have just brushed Nino's arm bent by his pillow.

* * *

He dreams of nothing. One moment he is all too aware of Nino's sleeping presence behind him; the next moment it is morning and Jean is the only one in the bed. He is simultaneously relieved and disappointed by it.

He wanders to the common area. Nino is already dressed, out in the balcony photographing the pastel sunrise. He looks back at Jean, smiling. "Morning."

For all his conflicting emotions, Jean can't not smile back. "Good morning. When did you get ready? I didn't hear you."

"No more than half an hour ago. And good. That was the plan, to not make any noise."

Jean walks up next to him and leans forward on the balcony railing, admiring the view. The ocean is calm. Even the sea birds and breeze are taking it easy today. "Let's go down to the beach after breakfast," he suggests.

"Sounds good." Nino smirks. "Maybe you should clean up first, though."

"Hmm?"

"Your hair."

Jean raises a hand to his head, finding his normally smoothed-down hair is sticking out. Embarrassed, he hastily flattens it, making Nino laugh, which makes Jean more embarrassed.

"I'm gonna go shower," Jean mumbles, shuffling back inside.

He doesn't take long, and rejoins Nino on the balcony, where they chat until Lotta wakes up and gets ready herself.

"I thought we could go eat... here," Jean tells Nino when they're outside, showing him the map on his phone. "It's a twenty-minute walk, but the reviews are all very positive. They're famous for their coffee and homemade bread."

"Walking for twenty minutes means nothing if I can get high-quality coffee and bread," Nino says, smiling.

That settles it, although Lotta rents a bicycle and patiently pedals in front of their leisurely pace.

Jean motions to her with his head. "Later, do you want to rent a bike too?"

"Maybe, yeah."

Jean smirks at him. "Not quite the bikes you prefer, huh?"

Nino laughs lightly.

Their breakfast is as good as promised. The dense bread is full of seeds, and the coffee is stronger than they're used to, but it's still delicious. The love of the people of Peshi has gone to bringing this food from crop to table so it can be tasted. It's part of what Jean likes about the kingdom: the diversity. He could not get a breakfast like this anywhere but here.

They go back to their suite to change, slather on sunscreen, and grab some items before heading to the beach.

The sun is comfortably up in a thinly-clouded sky; despite the coastal location, the heat is not terrible. This warm day by the sea feels like the summer everyone dreams of.

Lotta does her hair up in a bun. "They're playing beach volleyball over there," she says, pointing, "I'm gonna go join them!"

"Okay," Jean says, smoothing down a towel under a large umbrella, shading him and Nino. "We'll mostly be here or right ahead in the water."

"If you need to reapply sunscreen, the bottle's in my bag. There's water in the cooler, too. I didn't put food in there, but there was a shack selling stuff a little ways back. Your wallet is also in the bag."

Jean smiles at her. _And I'm the older one_ _._ "Thanks, Lotta."

"Have fun," Nino says, lying down, as she runs off in a sandy hurry. He turns to Jean. "She's so much more responsible than either of us, and she's about half our- your age."

"Yes," Jean says. He had not missed the slip-up. Nino had basically erased his past to present Jean with something passable. How had he ever kept track of what was real and what was not? Had he planned to live as the fabricated ten years younger version of himself until his death?

 _You were too tragic, Nino_ , he thinks. He folds his hands on his lap, looking down at them. In the shade, they are tinged with blue. "Even though you had to, I'm really glad I met you."

Nino's sunglasses hide his eyes, but his tone reveals it all when he quietly says, "Me, too."

Jean lets himself savor those two simple words a moment. Then he asks Nino what he plans on doing here.

"Actually, I thought I'd take a nap."

"You've not even been up eight hours."

"Breakfast was so filling, it made me sleepy."

"You're getting old," Jean says, nudging him.

He means it as a joke, but Nino's eyes, peeking over the rim of his sunglasses, turn distant, and his expression is subdued. "I really am, huh?"

"Um," Jean says, feeling bad, "I mean, so am I. So is everyone."

"Yet nothing much changes, does it," Nino mumbles to himself. "It's always going to be like this."

Now Jean is worried. "Nino? Are you okay?"

Nino blinks. He looks at Jean as if for the first time today. "Sorry. I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yes." He reaches over and pats Jean's knee. If it is meant to console Jean, it doesn't. It makes his skin burn in the shade.

Nino _sounds_ convincing, but he had years of practice for that. He doesn't need to tell Jean what made that comment slip from him, and as much as Jean would like to know, he will not press further. Should Nino be lying, then he doesn't want to talk about it. Jean should respect that. More so because of his own secret, locked deep in his heart, that he certainly wouldn't give away if prompted.

 _Not_ now _, anyway_ , he thinks, bringing his knees closer to him. _But am I ever going to tell him?_ If he did, too much could go wrong.

Still conflicted, but choosing to go with the safety of silence, Jean digs up another book he'd brought from the bottom of Lotta's beach bag. Getting as comfortable as he can, stealing glances at Nino quietly sleeping beside him, he reads little from lack of focusing.

Half an hour later, Nino stretches awake. "I feel much better."

Jean quickly looks back at his book. "That's good."

"Wanna hit the water?"

He thinks for half a second before marking his place and closing the book. "Yes."

A moment later, he wishes he hadn't done that so soon, because finding something else to look at while Nino slides off his sunglasses and shirt proves difficult.

The day has grown warmer. The sun is at its highest point, brighter without clouds to block it. Nino stands at the shore, watching the ocean as Jean watches him. _He looks like a model,_ Jean thinks. With the sun on Nino's hair like that, the way he casually poses while doing something so mundane, and his muscles, it's easy to stare.

He's not the only one. A girl sunbathing lowers her sunglasses, eyes on Nino.

Jean frowns. "There's less people ahead," he says, gesturing there.

"You're right. Let's go."

The disappointed look on the girl's face brings a smug one to Jean's.

They walk by the shore, the ocean-kissed sand squishy under their feet.

They settle on an area that, though less crowded, allows them to keep an eye on their stuff. The ocean is calm today; the waves lapping don't throw them off balance. The water, cool and clean, welcomes them.

"Race you to that buoy over there," Nino suddenly says.

"What-"

Nino has splashed away. Holding back a smile, Jean swims after him. But besides starting later, he doesn't have Nino's reach. He loses, swimming to a stop by Nino. He uses one hand to swipe the hair clinging to his forehead aside.

"Unfair," he says.

Nino smirks. Because of the water, his hair is dark, the fluff gone out of it as it hangs down. "Just swim faster next time."

"Next time?" He kicks off. "Okay, race you to that other buoy!" Jean calls out, feeling confident about his own trickery, but it doesn't last long. Nino, being taller and more athletic, still beats him.

Jean's arm grazes the surface of the sea, sending a spray of water on Nino's face.

"Hey!" Nino yells, wiping water from his eyes. "Now _that's_ unfair."

Jean, smiling politely, does it again.

"Jean!"

One more time.

But Nino anticipates it and shields himself, throwing water back with the arm not covering his face.

The fight is on.

They laugh through it, forgetting their ages for a little while.

It's Jean who has to call it off. "My arms are tired." To keep afloat, he kicks with more effort, his arms mostly just by his sides.

"So soon? You should work out more."

"The only work I do is for ACCA."

"Ah, that's why your arms look like noodles."

Jean flops on his back, allowing himself to float that way. He closes his eyes. "Jerk."

Nino laughs, the sound of it as pleasant as the warmth of the sun on Jean's face.

They laze in the sea for a while in peaceful summer quiet. Eventually, the sun starts to burn, and Jean suggests they head back ashore, which they do. Lotta is waiting for them at their spot, eating a large slice of watermelon.

"Someone in the game brought it and shared it. I also got you two some," she says as they dry off. "In the cooler."

"Thanks," Jean says, opening it up. The fruit is cold to the touch, and he can smell how sweet it is. He hands Nino his share, the shock of Nino's warm hand brushing his cold one almost making him drop it.

Nino catches it, eyeing Jean with concern. "Did the heat make you dizzy or something?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Make sure to keep drinking water, anyway," Lotta says. "None of us are very good in the heat."

He bites into his own watermelon slice. It is as refreshing as expected. "Watermelons count as water."

Nino laughs, but Lotta's having none of it, digging through the cooler for a water bottle she puts in Jean's hand. "Don't get heat exhaustion! Or worse."

"It's not," he says. His ears feel warm, but that could certainly be from having been in the sun. "My hand just... twitched."

"Well, water's good for you, so drink up!"

"When I'm thirsty."

"I kind of am," Nino says, taking the bottle from Jean. The plastic crinkles in his hand as he twists the cap off and then brings the bottle to his lips.

Jean stares at Nino's throat as he drinks it. A single drop of water sneaks past the corner of his mouth and stubbornly stays there. Jean's eyes travel down. Nino's body glistens with other drops that he hasn't toweled off yet. Ocean and sweat, nestled in his muscles.

Something cold hits Jean's knee and he jumps.

A chunk of his watermelon has fallen off.

Nino spurts in laughter. "You should have seen your face-"

Flushed from embarrassment, Jean swipes the bottle back, stands, and empties it on Nino's head. Instead of Nino shouting, or of Jean being pleased in getting back at Nino, Nino laughs harder, and seeing more water make its deliciously slow way down Nino's skin makes Jean redder.

"You're both so childish," Lotta says, just as Nino scoops Jean up and rushes to the ocean, still laughing.

"Nino!" Jean protests, instinctively wrapping his arms around Nino's neck, clutching. "Don't you dump me in the water!"

"Too late!" Nino says, moving as if to toss Jean, who yelps.

But he doesn't. Jean still clings to Nino.

"Just kidding," Nino says, smirking.

"I can't believe you!" Jean says, hand splaying on Nino's chest, and something like a laugh escapes him.

"The water here is too low. If I dropped you, it'd hurt. The psychological warfare is enough for now."

"You _jerk_ ," Jean says again, thumping Nino's chest once.

Whatever mild sense of annoyance Jean had melts like ice under the sun. He can't really stay mad at Nino, especially not when he's laughing warm and rich like this, still holding him. Jean doesn't want Nino to put him down.

"Carry me back," he blurts out before he can categorize this as something to be thought, not spoken.

"Carry you back?"

"For, um, scaring me," Jean tries. "I shouldn't have to walk. It's what you get."

"You make it sound like it's difficult to do," Nino says, walking back to their spot on the beach.

"Isn't it?"

"No, especially not for someone as twig-like as you."

The swishing of the ocean, the cries of seabirds, and the buzzing of a hundred beach-side conversations drown out Jean's voice when he quietly says, "When I've drunk too much, have you carried me home like this before?"

Nino peers down at him. A drop of water in his hair lands coolly on Jean's stomach. "Did you say something?"

"No," Jean says, "I didn't."

Nino gently sets him down on Jean's spread-out towel. Lotta giggles, still calling them children, mockingly scolding them. Nino blithely takes it, patting himself dry: his mop of hair, his arms, his chest. Jean watches, and realizes with shame what he is doing. He looks down at his hands, wondering how he's going to make it through two more days like this, because this cannot be a crush. To call it such would be the same as thinking of the ocean as a puddle. 

* * *

The sun has grown brighter and hotter yet, so they leave the beach for the air-conditioned cool of the hotel suite to shower, change, and get lunch. Lotta, in her own room, has her own bathroom.

Nino and Jean have to share.

"You can go first," Nino, being Nino, says.

"No, you go first," Jean says.

"It doesn't take me long to shower."

"Or me."

"You paid for this trip. The least I can do is offer you the shower first."

"And I'm telling you no."

"Jean, don't be so stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn, I'm being polite."

" _Jean_."

"Nino."

Nino sighs, though not without a smile. "This is really what we fight about, huh? Fine, I'll go first."

Jean, going to the common area, thinks about that. The two of them have bickered before. But that was the full extent. They've never fought about anything serious, never gotten worse than just raising their voices, never taken longer than a couple of hours to resolve things. Certainly it's due to neither of them being confrontational, but they also just... get along. Disagreements hardly happen because they don't really have anything to disagree about.

 _We're too fortunate_ , Jean thinks, staring out the window, chin on his palm. Two people, who learn from each other, who understand each other, and spend time peacefully with each other.

He purses his lips. Is this the friendship or infatuation talking? Probably both, locked in a tight circle, leading to and coming from one another.

He looks back in their bathroom's direction. Suddenly it dawns on him that beyond these walls, Nino is wet and naked. It's what a shower is, obviously, but he'd never thought anything of it – or had a reaction to it – until now.

 _Oh no_ , he thinks, hot all over. _God, not now._ Hurriedly, he grabs a throw pillow and puts it on his lap, desperately trying not to think of Nino, lathering his hair, water gliding cleanly off him from head to bare shoulder to bare chest to bare thigh to feet. He is wildly unsuccessful.

If this had been a thought unbidden in Badon, he could have dealt with it in the privacy of his own room. But he can't; Nino is _genuinely_ here, which makes his guilt and attraction worse. _Think of something else. Anything else._ Nino is one thing out of millions, billions many, and yet Jean can only fixate on him. Jean's eyes catch his own reflection on the black screen of the television. Seeing himself panicked and hunched over lends him a moment of self-awareness. He almost laughs.

His blood simply needs to flow elsewhere. Still sitting, he puts all of his weight into the platforms of his feet as if he is about to stand. About a minute later, his body is back under his control. Mostly. He brings a hand to his cheek, which is warm from a blush. He goes to the sink in the kitchenette, splashing cold water on his face.

A door opens, but not on the side of the suite he expected. Lotta walks out of her room, wearing a sundress, her hair done up in a towel. "As soon as my hair's dry, I'll be good to go! You?"

He turns the faucet off. "I haven't even showered yet."

"It's been, like, twenty minutes since we got back! I thought that was enough time for you and Nino to get ready."

"We... couldn't decide who should go first. That took up some time."

She affectionately rolls her eyes. "Honestly, you two!"

"Are you calling us childish again?" comes a voice: Nino, exiting the bedroom. His floral print – _floral print_ – shirt isn't buttoned up all the way.

"Basically," Lotta says, sitting down on the sofa. "Go on, Jean. I'm hungry and the sooner we go the better."

"Right," he mumbles, slipping past Nino without another look at him, and has the coldest, quickest shower of his life. 

* * *

Nino picks their lunch spot. It is further away, and remembering the bicycle rental Lotta had used earlier, they all opt to bike there. Down the town's bike lanes they go, the ride as smooth as silk. Jean's hair flutters in his self-made breeze, and if he closed his eyes, he'd think he was flying. He doesn't do so, though; he'd definitely crash. But the feeling of flight is pleasant.

This restaurant is small, and apparently busy at this time. They are told it'll be a fifteen-minute wait. Jean turns to Nino for wordless confirmation that he's alright with waiting. Nino nods. Jean's lip quirks up. He'd understood the glance.

"That's okay," Jean tells the server. "We'll wait out here."

Lotta goes off to eye the merchandise in nearby shops' windows. Nino and Jean remain outside, leaning against the restaurant's wall. A few other would-be patrons also wait in line. Jean scoots closer to Nino without realizing, but neither does Nino, who's scrolling through his phone.

"What are you reading?" Jean asks.

"I'm looking up cupcake shops," Nino says. "For tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Nino's birthday. The real reason they're here.

"Do any of them seem good?"

"They _all_ seem good."

"Maybe we could go to each one and get something there," Jean jokingly suggests.

Nino chuckles. "I don't know if I could eat that many cupcakes."

"We won't know unless we try."

"Don't tempt me."

"A dark chocolate cupcake at one place, milk chocolate at another, white chocolate someplace else..."

"We haven't had lunch yet; don't you go bringing up dessert," Nino says, prodding Jean with his foot.

"You don't want to spend all of today eating pastries? Like a pre-birthday celebration?"

"I'd love to, but my body wouldn't."

 _He's joking, right?_   Jean thinks, eyes helplessly falling to Nino's muscular, partly exposed chest. He quickly looks back up, but doesn't quite meet Nino's eyes. "You could handle it."

"Jean," Nino says, quite seriously, "are you my shoulder devil?"

Jean rests his chin on Nino's shoulder. "Maybe."

When Nino laughs, and Jean feels it through his jaw bone more than he hears it, he realizes what he's doing. He straightens, nervously brushing his bangs aside.

"Jean Otus?" comes the server's voice. "Your table's ready."

It had been less than fifteen minutes; Lotta hadn't returned. "Right, thank you," he says. He turns to Nino, about to ask something, but Nino speaks first.

"I'm telling Lotta we're being seated," Nino says, thumbs speeding along on his phone's keyboard.

Jean's question wastes away. He smiles.

It's loud inside the restaurant. They follow the server into a table at the center. It's a restaurant, and there is little sense of privacy in such places, yet being right where anyone around could lay eyes on them makes Jean uncomfortable.

Nino takes the seat in front of him. They are handed two menus.

"I need one more, actually," Jean says, louder than he's used to, and still thinks his voice is swallowed up in the midst of all the lively surrounding conversations and kitchen noise.

The server hears, though. "Ah, I'm sorry!" she says, laying another on the table. "I'll be back soon to take your orders, but can I interest you in any drinks for the time being?"

Rather than half-yell what he wants, Nino points to it on the menu. From the looks of it, it's wine.

Trusting his choice, Jean says, "I'll have that too. And a cola, for my sister who's not here yet."

The server scribbles it all down and leaves with a smile.

"Sorry," Nino says, arms folded on the table, leaning in across it to be heard. "Didn't think it'd be this loud."

The distance between them is respectable, but still small. The restaurant's ceiling is entirely skylights, and the sunlight streaming down plays on Nino's face, highlighting his smile. Jean takes a tiny breath in. "It's not like you have any say in it."

"They did say it was busy. I could have chosen elsewhere."

"Nino, it's fine. It must mean the food's really good."

"I'm here!" Lotta says, appearing in a white sun hat. She takes the chair next to Jean. "Sorry I took a bit. I ended up buying this!" She points to the hat.

"It looks good on you," Nino says.

Jean nods in agreement.

She smiles. "Thanks!"

 _I should buy something so Nino compliments me_ _, too_ , he thinks, pursing his lips. He realizes what he's just thought and presses his lips together more.

The server returns with their drinks and leaves again with their food orders taken.

Lotta judges what Nino and Jean have chosen to drink.

"Drinking at four?"

"When you're older," Nino says, bringing the wine glass to his lips, holding Jean's gaze, "you'll understand."

Unsure of what to do and of what to think, Jean glances down at his wine. He sees himself, reflected in still dark wine, all of him tinted deep red. He grabs the stem of the glass. Takes a sip.

It tastes of strawberries.

Jean looks at Nino. He's talking with Lotta, but in that moment, his eyes barely flit to Jean's, his lips barely tug into a smile, and Jean's heart barely keeps a steady pulse.

The sun is still up by the time they leave, but it has begun its gradual descent. The town is painted in muted golds, its buildings and people forming long and skinny shadows on the ground.

"There's still daylight left," Lotta says. "Can we go to the boardwalk?"

"If it's what Nino wants," Jean says.

Nino nods. "That sounds nice."

It is. The salt of the ocean is strong there, and mixed with the sugar of businesses selling sweets in the open air, it's a heady sensation. They're all full from a good meal, and still the junk food here calls their names. They succumb to cotton candy, spun in front of them, to Lotta's delight.

Their feet thump dully on the wooden boards in mismatched beats. They walk across the entire boardwalk, occasionally stopping at a store that catches their interest. Neither Jean or Nino buy anything, but Lotta soon has three small bags in hand. She swings them freely, walking ahead of them both.

"She's really enjoying herself here," Nino comments.

Briefly, Jean panics. "Are you?"

It's for nothing, because Nino smiles fondly. "Of course. I'm not as open as Lotta, but you picked a wonderful place to visit."

He relaxes. "I'm glad."

It suddenly darkens. Curious, they turn their heads up. Fluffy clouds have moved in front of the sun, blocking all but a single brilliant ray shining above like a halo.

"That's pretty, but they look kind of like rain clouds," Jean says.

"I did see there was a thirty percent chance of rain tomorrow," Nino says. "But I think that's low enough that we shouldn't worry."

"Really?" Jean smiles. "We've had a bad track record with that."

Nino laughs. "You're right. Now it'll rain for sure."

"You guys!" Lotta says, wheeling around. "We have to go on the Ferris wheel!"

From a distance, Jean had registered it as being there, but having reached the end of the boardwalk, it looms on him. Bright lights glow along its rim, a spot of color in a cloudy coast. The line to it isn't so bad, so they queue up.

"Take a picture of me with the Ferris wheel behind me, Nino!" Lotta says. 

"Sure," he says. He'd left his camera at the suite, and has to make do with his phone. "Okay, got it."

"Does it bother you, having to use your phone as a camera?" Jean asks.

"Not really. Part of the reason I picked this phone was for its camera quality. It's not up to par with an actual handheld camera, don't get me wrong. But for a phone, it's good." He snaps a picture of Jean and shows it to him. "See? Almost as good as the real thing."

The tips of Jean's ears are warm. He's not sure if Nino was comparing his camera to what the phone showed, or Jean to his photographed self, but he'd rather not ask and dash that stray hope that it is the latter.

Finally it's their turn. The passenger car wobbles as they get in. This time, Jean sits next to Nino, allowing himself that much. Nino and Lotta have taken their places by the window, looking out of it already even though they have not yet gone up. Jean himself is content watching them.

The wheel turns. The boardwalk shrinks; the ocean stretches further into the horizon, seemingly endless.

"It's beautiful up here," Lotta breathes. "If I was a bird, I could see this every day."

"Want to see?" Nino asks, neck craned to face Jean.

The glass of wine he'd had has left him pleasantly buzzed, and slightly less inhibited. So he stretches in front of Nino, holding on to his arm for support, in order to see. Which he truthfully could do just fine from his spot, despite it being further from the window. But still.

This height is nothing compared to the plane they'd taken here. Sitting in the wheel, he can still make out people, and the patternless spread of the town, and how mindbogglingly wide the ocean is. Yet it breaks his sense of perception more than any soar through the clouds can. Flying is a thrilling thing, but the earth is so distant as to not even matter. Perhaps because Jean can see what he experiences, just at a smaller and yet comprehensible scale, is why his head spins.

It also humbles him. They are at the highest point in the wheel's revolution, and everything seems so insignificant up here, with a sweeping view not of trifling human affairs, but the very world around them. There are grander things out there, yet people busy themselves with their immediate surroundings. There are so many places to see, countless people to meet; yet people stay mostly rooted to what they know, the endless possibilities of what could be should a different decision be made, a different path taken, gone unrealized.

His stomach flips. He turns to Nino, who's gauging him for a reaction.

 _It could have been anyone_ , Jean thinks. _But it was you_.

"It's not quite like what you see out of a plane," Nino says, "but it's still nice, isn't it?"

Jean vaguely feels that he nods. _It could have been any of the other palace workers that got assigned to watch the princess. But it was your father, and by association, you._

"Jean? The height's not getting to you, is it?"

Something like a shake of the head. _It could have been anyone_ _who became my best friend. But it was you._

Apparently not believing him, Nino gently pushes him back to his seat, but he doesn't make Jean let go of his arm. Jean unthinkingly squeezes it. _It could have been anyone I fell in love with. But it was you._ He looks at Nino, who is studying him worriedly. _It could be that it was always meant to be you._

That look of worry hits him, and Jean snaps back to their cramped space in the pod. He releases his grip on Nino, clearing his throat.

"I didn't know you didn't like heights," Lotta says.

Jean rubs his eyes. "I don't have a problem with them. I just... got distracted."

Nino chuckles. "I understand. Being high up kind of messes with your sense of scale."

The wheel begins to turn down, the world Jean knows regaining its proper size. When they exit the pod, his footsteps are steady, somehow. Night is near, and having seen the length of the boardwalk, they head back to the suite.

Jean isn't hungry, but he does crave a cigarette. He can't smoke here, though, not even in the balcony, so he tells Nino and Lotta he'll be somewhere outside for a smoke.

He didn't have a particular place in mind when he said he was going out. But, downstairs, looking at the veranda jutting out of the hotel's bar, with its silk roof and ocean view, it seems the perfect spot for a quiet cigarette.

The night sky glitters with more stars than he could dream of seeing in Badon. Here, he can trace constellations and see the subtleties of the night: deep blue near the bottom, purple draped on top, black at the summit of the sky. The colors blend into each other like lovers. The smoke of his cigarette seems almost blasphemous against that dark beauty.

 _I wonder if Nino has photographed the night yet_ , he wonders. _I should have invited him out._

He hears the door leading out here open. _Is it Nino?_

It's not. A woman, not much older than he, has joined him. They make eye contact and she nods in acknowledgment, an unlit cigarette jauntily between her fingers. She stands a meter or so away from him – not close enough to invite conversation, not far enough to be rude – and so Jean returns his gaze to the sky.

"Sorry, but do you have a light?"

He turns. She smiles apologetically.

"Yeah," he says, taking his lighter from his pocket. She steps forward, leaning, and the end of her cigarette burns orange.

"Thanks," she says. Her eyes fall on the lighter's design. "Oh, that's so cute. What bird is that?"

"An acca, and you're welcome," he says, turning away, signaling it is the end of this conversation.

"Huh!" Smoke blows past her lips. "Interesting choice. Mine is striped yellow-and-orange, which I got so I wouldn't forget it, but I do anyway."

"I can understand that," Jean says, a little annoyed she didn't read his body language.

"Maybe my husband hid it," she muses, and Jean represses a sigh. She's one of those chatty smokers; can't be helped. "I can see why he'd be especially bothered that I go off to smoke when we're on vacation. Something like..." She drops her voice to mimic a man's. "'Of all the things you could be doing in a district we've never been to, you smoke?!'" She laughs to herself. "I love him, don't get me wrong, but this is my little vice."

Jean taps the ash of his cigarette, looking at it fall. _Does Nino mind that I smoke?_

"Wow, listen to me talk. What about you?" she asks. "Did you come here alone?"

"No, I came with my family." He takes a drag of his cigarette, and when he exhales, realizes what he said.

She grins. "Your spouse doesn't want you smoking around them or the kids, I'm guessing?"

His cigarette falls from his fingers. He eyes it with some dismay, and not only from having dropped it, as he picks it back up. "I'm not married. My family is my younger sister and my-" Any semblance of what it is like to speak leaves him. He is stuck picturing Nino in flickering photographic stills, memories from their lives together. "My-" To call Nino his 'best friend' is far too simple. So is 'partner-in-crime.' And he is definitely not going to tell a stranger the extent to which he feels about Nino. Besides, he cannot describe their relationship as such because it is not how Nino sees him in turn. "I'm with my-"

The door opens.

"There you are," Nino says, carefully closing the door behind him.

"I'm with my sister and him," Jean quickly says, tossing the cigarette stub into the trash and trying not to run to Nino. "Let's go," he whispers to him, grabbing Nino by the wrist and speedily walking back inside.

"What was that about?" Nino asks when they stand outside the elevator.

Jean is about to speak, but sees Nino's eyes are on Jean's hand still squeezing his wrist. Jean lets go like he's been burned. "It was nothing."

The elevator arrives. They go in.

Nino presses the button for their floor, staring firmly in front of him as they travel up. "I see."

Jean clicks his teeth. "She was talking to me and asked me who I'd come here with. I said my family, and clarified it was my sister and you when you showed up."

The elevator dings, opening its doors to the quiet, empty hallways. Both of them stay put.

Nino turns to Jean. "I'm your family?" he asks, sounding unsure and disbelieving. There is something lurking in his widened eyes that Jean can't place.

"I consider you so," Jean answers, getting out of the elevator so Nino can't see the pink hot in his ears. "I hope that didn't, um, make you uncomfortable-"

"'Uncomfortable'?" Nino says, walking up to match Jean's pace. Jean hides his ears with locks of his hair, but there is no need to. Nino is looking evenly at Jean, eyes wide and bright. "Jean, I- I can't put into words how happy that makes me." His eyes swing ahead. "You and Lotta are all I have left." His steps sound lighter; a demure smile plays on his lips. "I'm... really happy."

The small flips Jean's stomach keeps doing last him well into the night. 

* * *

It is the morning of Nino's birthday, and it is raining.

Nino is up before Jean, again, though he's still in pajamas. He sips coffee from a thin paper cup, standing before the balcony watching the storm outside brew.

Jean pauses in the door frame. What does he say first? 'Good morning'? 'Happy birthday'? 'Sorry, guess we jinxed the weather after all'? 'Hey, it turns out I love you'?

He doesn't get the first word in; Nino turns and sees him. "Morning." He jabs a thumb toward the balcony. "We're the worst meteorologists."

Jean laughs quietly, walking up beside to him. "Thirty percent chance of rain did seem low."

"Mm-hmm."

Nino looks so good. He's not even trying to go for that lazy yet thoughtful watching-a-rainy-morning-like-in-a-movie vibe. It's just him, presently.

Jean crosses his arms as if to keep his heart firmly within its ribcage. "Happy birthday, Nino," he says, wishing it wasn't himself he was almost hugging. Maybe he should pat Nino? Just saying it is so... empty.

But he does nothing. Nothing except bask in the sunniness of Nino's smile. "Thank you."

Jean returns the smile.

He is at peace simply being next to Nino, watching the rain patter the glass and the darkened sea, that he forgets about the passage of time. Seconds could have passed, or even hours, and it would have seemed the same to him.

Time snaps back to its normal ticking when Nino says if he wants coffee, there's plenty left.

Jean nods and goes to the coffeemaker in the kitchenette. "It goes nice with rain."

"Right?" Nino says, smiling back at him.

"Have you eaten yet?" Jean asks, pouring himself a cup.

"No. I wanted to wait until you two were up." He sips his drink. "I wasn't sure if you'd even want to go anywhere, considering the weather."

"But it's your birthday," Jean says, walking back to Nino.

"Why are _you_ pouting? You're not the one being celebrated." Nino chuckles.

Jean's free hand unthinkingly goes to his face. He feels the downturn of his lip, the crinkle in the surrounding skin. It _is_ a pout.

"Personally, I don't want to walk through any more rain," Nino continues, "but if there's someplace you really-"

"Then we'll get room service," Jean says. "Whatever you want goes today."

"I'm not the prince here," Nino says, trying too hard to sound light and joking.

This time, Jean consciously frowns. "Nino, you're doing that again."

"Doing what?"

"Talking yourself down. Putting everything else before your own interests."

Nino looks guilty, which twists Jean's heart. "Yeah. Sorry. I'm-" A soft sigh. "I'm not used to being your center of attention."

Jean almost asks what Nino means, because he's always been popular, and then he registers he didn't say 'the' center of attention. He'd said 'your'. Jean's.

"Not that you haven't been the best friend I could ask for," Nino quickly adds. "You've just been really attentive lately, and I'm not sure how to handle that."

The twisting in Jean's heart builds to a tension that hurts. He looks down at his coffee. Back to Nino. "Be you," he says. "Be Nino my friend, not Nino my royal guard in all but name. We're not like that."

Nino's response is a smile that weakens Jean's knees. "You're right."

Jean had considered the entirety of this trip his birthday present to Nino. It doesn't feel like enough now. Giving him the whole of Dowa would still not be enough.

"Guess the cupcakes aren't happening," Nino says, sipping his coffee.

That Jean won't allow. "We have an umbrella. Or we could get a cab or something. But the cupcakes are definitely happening. And maybe the rain lets up later."

As if to dispute it, thunder rumbles in the stormy distance.

They share smirks.

"I hope so," Nino says. "But like you said, our track record with this stuff is not good." He gives him a mock-stern look. "You had better not brought a cyclone down on us."

"Don't even joke about that," Jean says, laughing a little.

"Good morning, guys," Lotta says, shuffling out of her room. "Have you been watching the rain or something?"

"Yes; it's nice," Jean says, and doesn't really like the slightly smug look Lotta gives him.

"Hm," she says. "Anyway." She turns to Nino, grinning, and runs up to him to hug him.

A single pinprick of dumb jealousy burns in Jean.

"Happy birthday, Nino!" she says, then lets go. "What do you wanna go eat? You have to pick everything today."

"Thank you, Lotta. Because of the rain, we were thinking room service."

"Oh, okay! This hotel is really nice, so I bet their food is, too."

She's not off with her assumption. They don't splurge on anything fancy – rainy days called for pancakes, they unanimously agreed – but the food is delicious, made better by the people Jean shares it with, the occasion they're celebrating, and the quietly comforting sound of rain on the windows.

After they're done eating and piling everything neatly in the hall, Lotta asks, "What are we going to do now?"

Jean rests his hand on his cheek, looking at Nino seated to his left. "I hadn't made any plans on what to do if it rained, so whatever Nino wants."

"Let's wait for the rain to go away."

"Besides the obvious," Jean says, affectionately rolling his eyes.

"Hey, don't roll your eyes at me. You're not allowed to sass me on my birthday."

Jean rolls them again, a grin about to break on his face.

Nino reaches over to cover Jean's eyes, huffing a playful, "Unbelievable." His hand is cool, yet Jean's skin tingles during the single breath Nino's hands on him last.

"You know what," Lotta chirps, slowly stepping backward in her room, "I think I'm alright just staying inside until it's clear!" And she disappears behind her door, not closing it all the way.

Nino blinks at the door, then turns to Jean. "She changed her mind quick."

"She did," Jean says, after a moment's pause.  _Is she up to something_ _?_

"Well, what are you going to do?" Nino asks. "Read?"

"I was saving the last part I have left for tomorrow's flight."

"Oh. Right," Nino says, somewhat distractedly. "We leave tomorrow."

A hopeful flutter in Jean's chest makes him say, "Maybe we could come back in winter, when Lotta's off school again."

Nino smiles. "You made an exception for my birthday. I know you don't like traveling. We should find things to do in Badon instead." He rests his chin on his hand. "There are still plenty of things we haven't done there."

That the next long vacation is months away and Nino already suggests a plan makes Jean's chest flutter more. He smiles back. "That would be good, too."

"In the mean time," Nino says, standing up, "I think I'll go around the hotel taking pictures. Restricting myself to indoors will be interesting."

 _Then I'll be on my own_ , Jean thinks. "Can I come with you?" he asks as Nino pushes the chair in with a wooden thump.

"I don't think that you'll find it interesting, but of course you can."

_You'd be surprised._

"However," Nino says. He goes behind Jean and starts gently pushing him. "You let me shower first last time, so now it's your turn, and don't argue about it."

Jean's neck warms up. He lets Nino guide him anyway, until Jean twists out of the way to grab a change of clothes. Nino chuckles and leaves him in privacy, returning to the common area. A breath of relief escapes Jean.

After he's clean and changed, he tells Nino it's his turn, and Jean waits with the television tuned in to the local news at a volume loud enough to mask the swishing of water beyond, working in keeping him in the moment.

Some time later, a damp towel falls on his head, obscuring his eyes. He lifts a corner, and sees Nino standing behind him, smirking.

"I'm good to go," he says, camera in hand.

Jean turns the television off and goes to tell Lotta that he and Nino will briefly be out. Then they leave.

Nino had once offered Jean a role as his assistant. He probably hadn't meant it, just said it for the sake of something to say when he had a role to play. Jean isn't qualified for such a job. But now, he wonders what his life would have been like had he said yes.

In the hotel, Nino will suddenly stop to frame whatever he'd seen in his viewfinder, twisting his lens, shutter button clicking satisfyingly. Since he isn't taking pictures of people, there's no posing needed, no lights arranged, no lenses to switch. So Jean, doing nothing to help, feels kind of in the way. Though he does like to watch Nino do what he loves best. Nino is so absorbed, so observant of their surroundings, seeing beauty or intrigue in the simplest things. The two do not speak much: Nino photographs, Jean watches. But Nino will smile at him after every photograph, a sort of _Did you see how nice that was?_ kind of smile, and will show him what he's captured. And Jean smiles back every time, helpless. All the photographs are wonderful. It isn't the bias of love blinding Jean, either. Nino is talented. He's had years to perfect his craft and it shows.

While he'd mostly been photographing the inside of the hotel, they have one brief venture out on the veranda for a closeup of the storm. The rain is deafening out here. If they should speak, it would drown them out – maybe literally, the way it mercilessly beats the ocean close by.

Nino motions for Jean to stand a little ways back, where sideways stray droplets won't hit him. He is close to the door himself, protecting his camera from the rain, while the shutter button clicks and clicks.

Jean thinks he hears Nino say something, so he turns to face him, and finds the camera is now pointed at him, taking his picture. Jean blinks, smiles shyly, and runs a hand through his hair.

Nino jabs his thumb toward the door, and they go inside. The door closes, and the sound of the storm is muffled through the glass.

"Is your camera okay?" Jean asks.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. You dry? Sorry for dragging you out."

"It's okay, I'm the one who wanted to come along. I'm dry."

"That's good." Nino is going through the pictures he'd taken.

Jean stands next to him, eyes flitting between the images on Nino's screen to Nino's face to anything else in the room that isn't Nino. "You took a picture of me," he says.

Nino looks up. "Did you want to see it?"

That wasn't the reason he'd said it, but it wasn't important. "Okay."

Some clicks later, Nino arrives at Jean's picture and shows him. He'd been caught unaware, at the precise moment he'd fully turned his head. His hair is fluffed about him, and his sleepy eyes are inquisitive. He could have been a blur. Instead he appears exactly as Nino, for a split second, had seen him.

"Don't you have enough pictures of me already?" Jean asks, holding his elbow. It's something frivolous. It's something he burned inside to know.

No answer. Just a tiny curl of the mouth. And then Nino's heading for the elevator. Jean follows, heart thudding.

"It really didn't seem that it would clear up, huh?" Nino asks when they're inside the elevator, silently swishing through floors. "The weather, I mean."

"There's still time left in the day. You never know."

Nino raises a shoulder in a half-shrug.

They remain in the suite until around lunchtime, when Lotta pops out of her room to announce that she is hungry.

"I'm not too hungry," Jean says. He turns to Nino, sitting beside him on the couch – not too close, of course. "You?"

"For cupcakes, if that counts."

Jean smiles. "It does, especially today." He stands. "I can go get them. What's the shop's address?"

"I can't make you do that," Nino says, standing too. "If anything, I'll go."

"You shouldn't have to go out in the rain on your birthday."

"Why not?"

"Walking long distances in this kind of weather is miserable. I really don't have a problem in going."

Nino crosses his arms. "Neither do I."

"You can _both_ go," Lotta says, smiling. "What a silly argument. The umbrella I brought will cover both of you fine. Let me go get it!"

The two exchange a look, and then helpless so-this-is-how-we-are grins.

Lotta gives them the umbrella, the same that had shaded Nino and Jean at the beach. It won't be a tight fit under it.

"What flavor cupcake do you want?" Jean asks her.

"Hmm... something unusual, so nothing strawberry or chocolate or vanilla."

"Okay."

"I have the address," Nino says, eyes on his phone. "The walk will be fifteen minutes, and in this weather, it'll probably be more. Do you want to get a cab instead?"

"I can bear a walk like that. You?"

"I'm fine either way."

Jean swings the umbrella up to tap his shoulder, smiling. "We're walking in the rain, then."

Downstairs, the entrance's glass doors slide open when they near them, the sound of rain on rooftops and roads like music to Jean's ears. It has lessened, though; where it was an angry beat in the morning, it is now a gentle lull.

Jean opens the umbrella. Nino ducks beneath it. Because he's taller, Jean has to raise the umbrella up higher than he's used to, which is somewhat uncomfortable. But for this, he gladly puts up with it.

"We go left first," Nino says, and they begin their walk.

Some shops and buildings they pass have small roofs. Going under them, the soft song of the rain on their umbrella briefly ceases. Leaving them, the song picks up just as they had left it.

"You were right," Nino says.

"Go right?"

"No, right as in correct, sorry. We keep walking straight."

"What was I right about?"

"The rain letting up. Definitely less angry than before. You can even see the sun, kind of." Nino points at the sky. Behind a gray cluster of clouds, a pale light shines through.

Jean smiles at him. "I guess we're not the worst meteorologists after all."

Nino chuckles. "Guess not."

Jean keeps glancing down at the space between them, wanting to link his arm through Nino's and lean on him. He'd be warm and comfortable and perfect in this rainy day, Jean knows it. But he keeps one hand around the umbrella's handle, the other a fist in his pocket.

"Right here," Nino says. Jean mistakes it as meaning they've arrived. They haven't; Nino had meant a right turn, which he does, while Jean, who'd been to his right, stops. Nino bumps into Jean. A small 'ow' involuntarily escapes him.

"Crap. I'm sorry, Jean. I didn't word that well," Nino says, taking a step back. "Are you okay? You said 'ow.'"

"You hit my shoulder, but it didn't really hurt; I said that out of reflex more than anything. It's fine."

Nino lightly rubs a small circle on Jean's shoulder. "Sorry."

It's over as quick as it had started. The sensation of Nino's hand on his shoulder, even through his shirt, leaves a phantom pulse behind.

Jean's front teeth catch the tip of his tongue. "It's really okay," he says.

They go right, take a few other turns, and are there. The outside of the shop is elegant yet inviting. Nino opens the door and props it for Jean, as Jean, one foot in and one foot out, folds the umbrella and shakes drops loose from it onto the pavement. Then they're both fully inside, where it is as cozy as it had seemed through the windows.Soft crystal lights and plush decor make it seem like a shop in the trendier Badon districts, not a laidback coastal town in Peshi. A prettily handwritten chalkboard menu is on the wall behind the glass case flaunting the various pastries.

"There's so much chocolate," Nino mutters as they walk up to the counter.

Jean smiles at him. "You don't have to pick just one. I'm buying. Don't even think about protesting otherwise."

Nino sighs, but gives Jean a small smile all the same.

Jean gets a honey lemon cupcake for Lotta and strawberry for himself; Nino chooses dark chocolate espresso.

"Do you want another?" Jean asks.

"I'm good with only this one, thank you. It's like you want my teeth to fall off," Nino teases.

"I don't want that," he says. _I want you to be happy,_ he thinks, and hands the shopkeeper behind the counter his card.

With the cupcakes secured in boxes, in turn inside a small bag that Nino carries, they head back out. The rain has turned to a halfhearted sprinkle; the sun has further broken through the cloudy haze. Nevertheless, Jean holds up the umbrella, to keep the cupcakes and themselves as dry as possible, as well as to walk closely next to Nino one more time.

When they are outside their suite, the instant Jean's hand burrows into his pockets for the key, Nino grabs his wrist. The key tumbles back inside his pocket. He turns to Nino, eyes wide, a question in the form of Nino's name on his lips.

But it goes unsaid.

"Sorry," Nino mumbles, letting go of Jean. His hand goes to the back of his neck. "I wanted to thank you, but couldn't really find a good time to do so." He lets go of a steady stream of air. Then, as slow and sweet as syrup, he smiles. "Thank you for this trip, Jean. I've had a great time this whole stay. You've really gone out of your way for me. It means a lot."

Jean could hug him. The seconds stretch by, ripe for the taking of action, and he starts to feel that he _should_ hug Nino – not just because he wants to, but because it would be proper, right? Nino had thanked him. It was his birthday, too. He hadn't so much as pat his shoulder in the morning where Lotta had _actually_ hugged him, and Nino hadn't so much as bat an eye, so it wouldn't be weird if Jean did it, right? He should, right?

 _I should_ , he thinks, and does. He wraps his arms around Nino's own, and it seems more like Jean is holding Nino in place than hugging him, but it's too late to fix. Somewhat embarrassed by messing that up, and by doing this at all, Jean plants his chin on Nino's shoulder and firmly looks ahead.

"You're family," he says. "Anything for you."

 _Why did I say that?_ he immediately thinks, squeezing his eyes shut, certain Nino can feel the erratic thumping of his heart through his shirt.

He opens his eyes when he realizes Nino hasn't yet spoken or moved. He might not even be breathing; where their chests meet, Jean feels only the rise and fall of his own. Nervous, he releases Nino and takes a hurried step back.

There is a speckle of color on Nino's face, made brighter by the whites of his eyes, gone big as the moon. Jean's never seen Nino like this. He'd been out of line, then, getting so close.

Jean feels heat rising up to his cheeks. That's what he gets for assuming. "I-"

"That surprised me," Nino says, exhaling in a kind of soft laugh. He crosses his arms, cupping his elbows. "I didn't think you were one for physical contact."

"I'm not," Jean says, looking at the door opposite of their suite. "But I know you, so it's okay."

"Ah."

"Are... the cupcakes okay?" He flits his eyes to Nino. "I, um, kind of squished you."

Nino smirks. Everything is as usual. "That's what you're worried about? They're fine; I had them by my side."

"Oh, good," he says, voice even but fingers fumbling as he rummages for the room's key again.

He gets the door open. Lotta springs up from the sofa.

"What did you get?" she asks.

"You'll see," Jean answers.

Nino puts the bag on the kitchenette counter, unpacking the sweets from the bag, opening each box and handing them out. They sit around the counter.

"Oh, they're pretty big!" Lotta says, holding hers up like it's worth its weight in gold. She sets it back down. "I'll go make us some coffee. You guys can have a bite of mine, if you want!"

Jean scoots his bar stool closer to the counter. "Is that because you want to try ours?"

"Yes, but I'm also being polite!"

"But you said you didn't want anything strawberry, chocolate, or vanilla."

The coffeemaker gurgles. "Because I knew you'd take care of the first two."

Nino chuckles.

Lotta rejoins them, bringing the drinks. She tears off two bits of her cupcake and hands them to him and Nino. "There you go." She takes a bite of her remaining piece. "Mmm! Lemony and sweet. Honey-ish."

"Yes, it was honey lemon," Jean says.

"Is yours plain strawberry?"

"The frosting's cream cheese," he says, offering her a bite. She uses her fingers to grab her small share, instead. Then he offers some to Nino. He's expecting him to do as Lotta did. He doesn't. He takes a small bite, a wisp of frosting catching on his upper lip, a huff of air catching in Jean's throat.

"That's good," Nino says. His tongue runs over his lip, swiping the frosting.

He'd bitten it on the side opposite Jean. It would be odd to twist the cupcake around and eat from the same spot. The thought alone turns Jean's ears red, more so because as silly as it is, he wants to do this closest thing to a kiss he's going to get.

But he doesn't turn the cupcake. He eats it from the side facing him.

It is still good.

"Nino," Lotta says, "what are those little things on top of yours? Coffee beans?"

"I think so. It's dark chocolate espresso."

"Ooh."

"You don't have to share yours, Nino," Jean says.

"I don't mind."

"I changed my mind," Lotta says, "I don't really want to eat something with coffee in it while I have coffee."

Nino pushes his cupcake toward Jean. "Here."

He did, in fact, want to try it. If Nino had been holding it. On the countertop like this, it's somehow less appetizing, and the small part Nino had eaten is – again – opposite Jean.

"Thanks," he says, grabbing it and nibbling on a corner. The coffee and chocolate balance each other nicely. "Not bad."

"'Not bad'?" Nino pulls the cupcake back toward him. "This is the best chocolate-and-something-else cupcake I've ever had."

Jean's lip quirks up. "I like chocolate, but not like you do."

"The world might end if you abandon strawberries for anything else," Nino says.

Except there is something he does like more than strawberries. Someone, rather. Someone, beside him, who says all these things and acts this way and is always there and doesn't _know_.

It feels like the world might end, anyhow.

Yet it keeps turning, at an unimaginable speed none can sense except in observing the days darken to nights. That discernible change precisely happens now, deepening the sky outside, and the sunlight filtered through the cloth blinds gradually turns the inside of their suite pink and orange.

"Has the rain stopped?" Lotta asks, tossing away her cupcake wrapper, dusting her hands of crumbs. "It seems like the sun's setting and it's colorful, not all gray and drab."

"Now that you mention it," Nino says, "I haven't heard any rain since we got back." He gets up and heads to the cloth blinds, drawing them aside. The vibrancy of the sunset fills up the room. Not a single storm cloud remains: the sun, about to dip below the surface of the sea, glows true and free. A myriad of colors are whorled in the sky, playing off each other – warm near the low sun, cool near the shy and high moon – as if strategically, thoughtfully painted.

"Pretty..." Lotta whispers.

Nino hasn't moved.

Jean flicks his eyes between him and the scene beyond the window. "Want to go down to the boardwalk?" he asks him. "Pictures there would be amazing."

"You read my mind," Nino mumbles. He turns to face Jean, and he's smiling.

 _I_ _f only_ _I could_ , Jean thinks.

The three head down to enjoy the after-rain cool of the evening. Lotta goes on a separate direction, leaving Jean alone with Nino.

The wood of the boardwalk is an old gray, darkened by rain, but it is as sturdy as the day it was laid down. Their footsteps hardly make a sound as they slowly make their way through it. Seagulls roost, getting ready to end their day in time with the sun. The perpetual Peshi breeze skims over the sea, sending salty spray on all near the shore; it cools the land and its people.

Jean absently rubs his arm. He and Nino haven't spoken much in this rendezvous. It doesn't mean anything; there simply isn't much to say. Silence with the right people is beautiful, too. But he'd like for Nino to say something, if only because the sound of his gravelly voice goes so well with this seaside sunset.

 _Then again_ , Jean thinks, stealing a glimpse at Nino, who is absorbed by the glittering ocean beyond the wooden railing, _it goes with everything_.

"The people of this nation believe Princess Schnee died in these waters," Nino suddenly says, absently thumbing the camera strap around his neck. "It's not the case, but as far as last sights go, the ocean wouldn't be terrible."

"It wouldn't," Jean agrees. "Although I wouldn't want to die far from Badon." He brushes a stray lock of hair aside. "That's home."

"You're not allowed to die," Nino replies, and Jean doesn't think he is being flippant about it.

"Neither are you," he counters, eyes on the same distant spot Nino looks at. He crosses his arms. If he didn't, he would probably foolishly seek out Nino's arm or hand or _something_ , to make sure Nino is there and remains so.

The seabirds call to each other.

"Jean," Nino says, leaning on the railing, finally facing him. He's smiling, crinkly-eyed and warm.

_As far as last sights go..._

"I keep repeating myself, but thank you for bringing me here. I think experiences make the best presents. I won't forget these past few days."

The setting sun is only partly why Jean's skin glows. "It was about time we did."

"'About time'?"

"You're always going above and beyond for us. We should as well."

Nino, surprised, quickly shifts his hold on the railing. "Jean, you- _ow_." Nino holds up a finger, inspecting it. "Splinter."

"Let's go back to the hotel," Jean says, forgetting himself and touching Nino's elbow. "We can ask the front desk for a needle or something to remove it."

"No need to. I have a pocketknife, but I left it in the suite." Nino looks at his finger again. "It got on my writing hand, so I won't be able to handle the pocketknife that well. Would you be fine with taking it out? I understand if not; it's-"

"I can do it," Jean says, his hand firmer on Nino. This he does notice, and he puts his arm down by his side again. "It won't bother me."

So he says, but when they're in the bathroom, the overhead lights and the vanity lights around the mirror turned on, holding Nino's hand and a knife to Nino's warm skin, his left leg is threatening to shake.

"Really, Jean, if you can't do it, it's fine," Nino says, voice low and reassuring.

"If Jean can't help," Lotta calls from elsewhere in the suite, somehow sensing the situation, "I can do it!"

Jean sets his mouth. "I can do it," he says, stern, more to himself. He takes a quick breath and makes a small cut where the splinter is buried. There is no blood.

"See, easy," Nino says. It sounds like he's smiling. "I can pick it out now with the tweezers. Thanks."

"Yeah," Jean mumbles, handing Nino the pocketknife.

Nino folds back the blade for the tiny tweezers, removes the splinter, and tosses it into the trash. "Team effort," he jokes, meticulously washing his finger.

"Do-" Jean swallows. "Do you need a bandage or something?"

"I'm alright. Thanks, though." He turns off the tap. He briefly looks out the door toward the window, then back to Jean. "We already had dinner, but how about a drink? It's not terribly late."

"Is this your way of saying 'thank you'?" Jean asks, a smile playing on his lips.

"That's part of it."

"What's the other part?"

"I like to drink with you, what else?" Nino half-turns away from Jean. "You coming?"

His smile is certain now. "Yes."

Jean is careful to only have one drink, and that is coupled with water. He can't get drunk with Nino for some time, not when all it would take to upset the precarious peace Jean has made with himself is too much alcohol – which, for him, isn't much at all. The drink he chooses gives him a good buzz while maintaining his cognizance.

Nino, too, doesn't drink much. They spend most of the time drifting as easily as the breeze between topics, enjoying their last night in Peshi outside. The moon and stars are their only witnesses, their pale glow outshone by the scattered lights of the town. Together, they lend Jean enough light to see Nino's profile. His eyes are on the ocean; his lips are curled into a pensive smile.

Jean might be on land, but it feels, for a heart's beat, that he's drowning; his stomach drops from under him, he hears his blood rush like the roar of the currents, he can't breathe because something has blocked it and it makes his head swim. Nino isn't doing anything at all and still it makes Jean weak like this. His very presence is enough – with it, the years of memories and the time-established comfort, security, and affection Jean feels around Nino inundate him.

The alcohol in his system is diluted, but not his emotions. If anything, watching Nino thoughtfully gaze at the night, they're amplified.

Jean gently cups his drink. "What are you thinking about?"

Nino turns. His smile is a little wider. "Soon, it won't be my birthday anymore, but I'll still be older." He leans back on his chair. "I bear the marks. The universe doesn't care."

"Oh. I thought it would be something more lighthearted," Jean admits. "You were smiling."

"Was I?" Nino's hand traces the corner of his mouth as if meaning to find the smile lost to speaking. "Well, I was also thinking about this trip." He smiles again. "I had fun. But you've heard that plenty already."

And he's not tired of it. A moment passes, and he asks, "Is there anything else you want?"

It is an innocent enough question, and that is mostly what Jean intends. Mostly. Underneath the subservience, buoyed up by the diluted alcohol, he dares to hope Nino will look at him the way he does to him.

Nino blinks. "Anything else I want?" he slowly repeats. He was already looking at Jean, and he lingers on him a moment before flitting his eyes off to the side, to the ground, to his drink on the table, then settling on Jean again, but they seem different than before. "I don't think so."

It's the expected answer – Nino isn't selfish, and Nino can't see into Jean's heart – but still Jean's reply of a smile tugs painfully on him.

The ache hasn't left him when they're back in the suite, Nino curled up on the bed facing away from Jean, breathing evenly through a deep sleep. The wane moonlight through the blinds does little to help Jean see, but it's not seeing that matters so much right know, it's Nino's presence. He is beside Jean in bed, an arm's length away. For the last time.

Nino breathes in, breathes out. Jean hasn't done either in a few seconds.

Everyone sleeps. Yet to see it is oddly intimate. It is when one is most vulnerable. If Jean stretched his arm, he could brush the back of Nino's head. If he stretched a bit further than that, he could graze his cheek.

The air goes out of him in a quiet puff, and he breathes it back in shakily. It would be too easy to reach out and touch him, and to lie and say he'd tossed in his sleep and done so accidentally. He has faltered with this thought for at least ten minutes now, making him unable to sleep. His eyes are dry and growing heavy, yet he cannot keep them closed and drift into dreams. He has this moment to memorize, anyway. This is what it's like to have Nino next to him.

Jean's fingers curl on the cool bed sheet, wrinkling the fabric. Is it possible to be close and far from someone simultaneously? He sinks his cheek further into his pillow.

 _Nino_ , he thinks, as earnestly as if it were being spoken, _you complete me._

Nino breathes in, breathes out.

Jean closes his eyes. 

* * *

"Are you sure you're not forgetting anything?" Lotta asks, lifting her oversized sunglasses to sternly eye Jean.

He hesitates. "Probably not."

She sighs.

Nino joins them in the common area. "I rechecked our room. I couldn't find anything left behind, so I think we're good."

"I'm checking myself," she decides, putting down her bag and walking to Nino and Jean's former suite. "You two are terrible at this kind of thing."

Nino chuckles. "She's not wrong," he tells Jean.

Neither of them had bought anything while here; it was Lotta who had the fondness for vacation trinkets. The most important things to both of them were snugly packed within their memories. Well, that and Nino's camera, but that is slung around his neck. They're good to go, Jean's pretty certain, but if they forgot something as innocuous as shampoo Lotta would scold him. Best to let her make sure.

Jean turns his eyes to the balcony. It's nearing afternoon, the sun bright and warm, the sky perfect and cloudless. The color of the ocean, stirred by a light breeze, reminds Jean of something. Jean looks to Nino, his eyes falling on his hair. He turns back to the ocean, lips quirking into a private smile.

"This is a nice place," he says. "I'll miss it."

"Mm-hmm." Nino rests his elbow on Jean's shoulder like it's where it belongs. "But it's not home, right?"

Jean smiles at him. "No, it's not."

"It seems you two really didn't forget anything," Lotta says, returning. Nino withdraws his elbow, too soon. "You can get that taxi now!"

"Are we sure _you_ didn't forget anything?" Nino playfully asks her as Jean dials for the cab.

"I wouldn't!" Lotta insists.

A cab ride, airport screening, and one-hour wait later, they're boarding for their plane.

They sit in the same order without thinking about it: Lotta by the window, Jean in the middle, Nino by the aisle. Lotta dreamily looks out the window.

"I'll miss Peshi," she says. She turns to Jean. "This trip was fun! When we do something like this next, can I pick where we go?"

"'When'?" Jean says, lifting an amused eyebrow. "Not 'if'?"

"Please, Jean. You know it'll happen."

They laugh about it.

"Sure," he agrees. He points between him and Nino. "But we can veto."

"I doubt you will. I wanna go to Dowa! The only time the three of us have been there was for Schwan's ceremony." She smiles at both of them. "I want to visit that family with _this_ family."

Jean turns to Nino, whose mouth is open in surprise and also likely in a friendly dissent he can't bring himself to make. He closes his mouth and meets Jean's eyes, wordlessly asking for support.

He doesn't receive it. "We should go," Jean says. How had he not thought about that? "It's a great idea." The king already knows who Nino is, but Nino has never had a chance to meet him as he should.

"But-" Nino starts, and is surprised again when Jean clamps his mouth shut with his hand.

It surprises Jean, too; he'd moved on impulse. He blinks it away. "But nothing," he says, Nino's breathing and the warmth of his skin making Jean's heart skip a few beats. "It would be _their_ honor to meet _you_."

"We could go during winter break!" Lotta adds.

"I can pay again," Jean offers, tightly grabbing hold of this plan.

"You could even show us around, Nino! You know Dowa much better than we do."

"And things from your past, too. Places you liked, places that were important to you. I'd like to see them. If we can." Jean lowers his hand, Nino's eyes following it, and then flicking back up to meet Jean's.

He wears a modest smile. "You don't need to pay for me. I'll contribute my share."

Lotta gasps. "Is that a 'yes,' then?"

"It's a yes."

She bounces her legs. "Oh, it'll be so fun, Nino! I've already talked about you, all really positive things of course, but for them to meet you...! I'm so excited! I'll start planning the moment we're back home."

"You've talked about me?" Nino mumbles to himself.

"Lotta, that's still months away," Jean says, smiling at her enthusiasm, which he himself secretly shares.

"It doesn't matter! This vacation will be even better and I'm gonna make sure of it."

"You've talked about me," Nino says again.

"Obviously," Lotta now replies. "Jean has too, you know. Does he not tell you?"

Jean's smile flickers as Nino, shocked, turns to him.

"It's not like I've shared our life story," Jean says, warmth creeping up his neck, "but I have mentioned you." He glances down at the hand that had covered Nino's mouth. "You're too important not to." He sets his lips into a thin line. "You have to realize that, Nino. You're always putting yourself down, but you're the last person in the nation who should be doing that.If Ineed to remind you every day, I will." His voice had picked up a smoldering strength, but having finished, remembering they're in an airplane surrounded by strangers, it turns to ashes. He looks down at his hand once more.

There is a dull, light thump. Nino has put his elbow on the arm rest and leans into his palm, giving Jean the smallest, softest smile. "Thank you," he says.

Jean wants to smile back, and he should, but he spends a few heartbeats taking in Nino, centimeters away, sending Jean's thoughts into disarray so effortlessly and unknowingly. Then it's too late; Nino has folded his hands in front of him and is answering something Lotta has asked.

This flight, Nino doesn't sleep on his shoulder, and Jean manages to finish his last book. If he had had to pick between completing a book or not moving due to a comforting warmth pressed against him, he would have sat motionless and loved it.

The hours that had been stolen from them when arriving to Peshi surge back. Badon is enveloped in evening when they land. Jean's body hasn't registered the time change and doesn't feel tired at all.

"My sleep schedule is going to be messy for a bit," Nino says, evidently thinking along the same lines. He faces Jean, stretching. "Do you work tomorrow? The readjustment might throw you off."

"I don't. I also asked for the day off after we got back because I thought I'd need it."

"Smart." Nino, being by the aisle, stands and hands Jean and Lotta their carry-ons. "Here."

"Thanks. What about you?" They have yet to part, but Jean already thinks of the next time they can meet.

"Nothing until Wednesday. Then I'll be busy for up to a week."

That's three days away. Is it too sudden to ask him when they can get drinks? Jean weighs this all the way to the cab ride back home, and they're pulling up in front of Nino's building before he has decided.

"Do you need help taking your luggage up?" he asks instead.

"No, I'm good," Nino says, taking off his seat belt and shuffling out the car door. Jean watches him get out his suitcase with his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Nino rounds back and bends at window level, looking between Jean and Lotta – but, Jean selfishly thinks, mainly at him.

"I already thanked you a lot for taking me on vacation. Here it is one last time anyway: thank you. It was the best thing I could have asked for, regardless of it being my birthday." He straightens. "Text me when you're home. 'Til next time."

"'Til next time," Jean repeats. _Which will hopefully be soon._

"Bye!" Lotta chirps.

Nino walks inside his building. The cab drives away, and the building, distinct up close, becomes but one of the many shadows looming behind them.

 _I_ _t's over_ , Jean thinks, leaning back on his seat. He turns his head. Badon whooshes past him down familiar streets, leading him back home, back to the everyday life he knows. They don't live far from Nino and are quickly at their apartment.

 _Is it really over, though?_ he thinks when he's stepping inside their apartment. Everything looks the same, but having been gone for a couple of days, the smell of it, customarily wrapped around him unnoticed, is strange. As if it's not really home. He can discern the change, since this is where he lives. But it's not something that would seem different to Nino, who doesn't know what it is like to live with this daily.

He walks to his room to unpack.

First, though, a short text to Nino: 

 _We're home. Have a good rest of the night._  

The reply takes a few seconds to come: 

 _Great. You, too._  

Jean doesn't like leaving the conversation there, it's too curt, but there's nothing much else to say. They've been by each other the past few days; they know what has happened. In the last few minutes since they each got home, hardly anything of note could be shared. They should both sleep.

His phone buzzes unexpectedly, startling him.

It's Nino again. 

 _I'll send you the pictures I took tomorrow. I didn't forget. Okay, now goodnight._  

Jean reads it one more time with a quivering smile. He presses his phone to his heart. "Goodnight," he murmurs.


	8. Chapter 8

Jean has lived many days like today: get up, shower, get dressed, have breakfast, half-pay attention to the news, chat with Lotta, avoid thinking about work, nearly forget something before heading to the office. He should probably have learned by now from the latter's common occurrence to check he has everything before he leaves, or so Lotta says, but moments after he tells himself to not forget something, he tends to forget he'd thought it at all.

Everything goes smoothly as usual.

Though he hasn't seen Nino since coming back. 

Jean never did end up asking when they could get together for a drink, thinking – and hoping – Nino might do so first. He hadn't, and they had only exchanged a few texts since returning to Badon, most of them involving the pictures Nino had taken. Today is Tuesday, Jean's first day back to work. Tomorrow, and for some time thereafter, Nino will be busy. Today is his last chance to suggest they go someplace, and it sticks in the back of his mind.

When he is on the subway, the buzz from his phone cuts through the quiet of the commute as well as his thoughts. He digs it out from his pocket.

He smiles. Who else could it be but Nino? 

 _Have a good day back at work. Or as good as you can make it._  

Jean texts back a cheeky reply and silences his phone before pocketing it. Otherwise, it would be too tempting to spend his shift making idle conversation with Nino.

Or an idle request.

He gets his phone back out and types as fast as he can: 

 _After I get out of work, can you join me for drinks?_  

It's absurd that sending it makes him nervous when he's asked this very thing many other times. It's more absurd yet that Nino's agreement, the expected response, makes butterflies fly about in his rib cage.

The voice over the speakers announces his stop, and he walks out.

His good mood remains even when he arrives at the office.

"Welcome back," Knot says.

"How was the trip?" Keri asks.

"Thank you, Knot," Jean says. "It was good, Keri. Peshi's beaches are better than ours, I have to say." He glances around the office. "Where are Mozu and Atori?"

"Atori went to buy us coffee," Keri says, "and Mozu is out sick."

"Since when?"

"Yesterday. She thinks she'll be back in two days or so, though."

"Was it busy with me and her gone?"

Keri flexes her arm, grinning. "We were able to keep up!"

Jean smiles. "That's good." He goes inside his office, but turns last minute. "Can you tell Mozu I hope she gets better soon, but to not force herself? I don't have her number."

"Of course!"

The door opens. In comes Atori bearing four coffee cups on a cardboard holder. "Morning! Got everyone their drinks! Even you, sir, welcome back!" She hands out the respective cups, getting to Jean last.

"Thank you," he says, accepting it.

"I had a teensy thing to ask you, sir," she says, and immediately Jean thinks _Oh no_.

"What is it?" he asks cautiously.

She laughs. "It's not another blind date; you don't need to be so suspicious! I was invited to a wedding, see, and my plus-one was Mozu. But as they probably already told you, she's sick. I was wondering if you could come. It'd be a shame to let the plus-one go unused."

Jean suppresses a sigh, fingers coursing through his hair. "No one else you know can make it?"

Atori shakes her head. "Keri doesn't like the groom, Knot has his kids to take care of, and my non-work friends all know the couple so they're already going."

"When is it?"

"Ah... tomorrow, at seven o'clock. Sorry, I know it's really short notice!"

Tomorrow. Nino will be busy then; the wedding won't be interfering. He's not a social person at all, but the prospect of free food is somewhat enticing. "Do you know what's being served?"

"Standard wedding food, but the bride is a baker. I know for a fact there'll be lots of desserts she made!"

Jean pauses. "I'll go."

Atori is relieved. "Thanks so much, sir!" She goes back to her desk. "You don't even need to stick by me the whole time or anything. And I can pick you up! It's kinda far."

Jean hums distractedly, now going to his desk. He should find that suit he wore, in what feels like a lifetime ago, to Prince Schwan's coming-of-age ceremony.

 _But after drinks with Nino_ , he thinks. That's more important. 

* * *

"Here you go," Nino says, sliding over Jean's beer, then sliding himself in to the seat in front of Jean.

Jean thanks him, nursing the tall drink.

"How was work?" Nino asks, drinking from his own pint. The froth only briefly clings to his mouth before his tongue runs over his top lip, licking it away.

Jean's eyes dart down to the froth on his beer. He swallows thickly despite having not yet touched the drink. "Like usual."

"Yeah, our day-to-day lives aren't so exciting, huh?" Nino grins. "Even after we've been away for a while."

"That's how I prefer it," Jean says, now taking a sip of his beer. It's strong; he grimaces.

Nino laughs. "You know what, I do too."

"You chose a really strong beer," he says, eyeing his with some wariness.

"You told me to surprise you. It worked, didn't it?"

Jean smiles and rolls his eyes. He's not going to be able to finish it. He shouldn't, at least. Not if he knows what's good for his health or his heart.

"Did you like the pictures?" Nino asks, hand curled against his cheek.

"Of course I did." Nino had sent them yesterday, and Jean and Lotta had spent some time looking at them. The scenery was as stunning in photographs as it had been in person, but Jean's favorites were those of the three of them. "Did I not say so?"

"You did thank me." Nino tilts his head. "Was the compliment implicit?"

"Oh." Jean rubs his neck, embarrassed. "Sorry." He glances at his beer. "I loved them. Lotta, too."

Nino straightens. His smile is kind. "Jean, it's okay, I'm just teasing you. You don't need to tell me everything. I kind of know what your silences mean."

Jean's hand slowly goes back to his side. A mixture of pride and uneasiness churns in him. _Does he know, then?_ he thinks.

"Then again," Nino continues, "it's difficult to pinpoint what you're thinking sometimes. You don't really wear your emotions on your sleeve. I've just been by you long enough I can usually tell. Usually."

He relaxes somewhat. _Doesn't seem so._ Nino wouldn't be so casual with him if he was aware that his best friend, his only friend, wanted something much deeper. Would he?

"Wait, no," Nino adds, after taking another drink. "The one thing that's obvious is when you're embarrassed. You turn pink."

Jean had known this, and yet a refusal is at the tip of his tongue, just as a blush is blooming on his cheeks. "No I don't."

"Oh no," Nino laughs, "you do. See, you're turning pink right now."

The blush is bad enough Jean's face feels sunburned.

Nino's grin isn't helping. "Don't worry, it's cute."

Neither does that comment.

"I need to go to the restroom," Jean mumbles, shuffling out of the seat.

Nino says something but Jean, walking briskly, and in fretful self-introspection, doesn't hear it.

The restroom lights are flattering, their yellow glow not casting Jean's true self in the mirror. So seeing a blush in his reflection, in this lighting, means it is actually worse.

He buries his face in his hands.

A few seconds later, feeling uncomfortably warm like that, he splashes water on his face, meeting his own eyes on the mirror.

 _You were embarrassed, and that's what Nino was making fun of you for_ , he mentally tells himself. _He doesn't know anything more._

He shuts the tap off. _Don't make it worse._

He makes sure the color is gone from his face before going back.

Nino watches him scoot back in the seat. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." Jean's eyes fall on Nino's mug. It's far emptier than he remembers. "You're right, I get red easily."

The quirk in Nino's mouth is dry, as if it's him who's been affronted and not Jean. Something about it disquiets Jean, like maybe he has somehow made things worse already. If he has, he doesn't know how. Still, he tries to think of how to change the subject, but Nino beats him to it.

"Do you have anything planned for the next few days, since we can't hang out?" he asks.

"I-" Jean starts, but cuts himself off. He hadn't had an issue accepting the wedding invite in the morning. Now, though, looking Nino in the eye, thinking of telling him he had done that makes his chest tight. Not because he feels guilty about being bribed with food, which doesn't bother him too much. Maybe it's just saying the word 'wedding' to Nino that twists his tongue. "Not really," he finishes, staring down at his beer.

"Do you want me to recommend you any places to go to? Food or recreation. You could take Lotta, if you don't want to go alone."

A small laugh huffs out of Jean.

Nino raises an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

Jean cups his chin. With his other hand, a single finger wipes a drop of condensation from his squeaking glass. "I only spend time with you and her."

"Is that so bad?" He smirks. "I don't think we're terrible company."

 _Squeak_. "It's not bad at all." An understatement.

Nino's smirk softens into a sincere smile.

Jean doesn't feel like drinking anymore, but his lips and hands are empty. He lights a cigarette, inhaling greedily, holding the smoke in a breath longer than usual, then exhaling away from Nino. "What about you?" he mumbles.

"What about me?"

"You had to get close to me." An even deeper inhale; a meaningless stare at the far wall. "Was _I_   terrible company?"

"Jean, you've asked me something like this before," Nino says, with infinite patience, "but I'm here now, aren't I?"

He feels the strange sensation of floating, like a balloon gently swaying upwards. He has to clench his hand into a fist to return to the present moment. "Yeah," he says, past the cigarette, through a smile.

"I've had to lie about things," Nino says, "but my friendship with you has always been the truth."

Jean breathes in a steady stream of clean air. The truth. He slowly taps the ash off his cigarette: once – _The truth, Nino_ _–_ twice – _is that I_ _want to be more than your friend_. He takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke up. It dissipates, and he looks back down at Nino, telling himself to smile. "Could you give me those recommendations after all?" 

* * *

Jean warily studies himself in the mirror. It isn't that the suit is unbecoming – it still fits him perfectly – but that he is wearing it to a wedding with a bride and groom he doesn't know, with guests he also doesn't know (except for one, bringing him along). The thought of sitting for hours at a party with strangers grows worse by the minute.

But it's too late to change his mind; besides, he's not one to break promises. He glances at the time on his phone. Atori should be here soon.

He sighs. _I hope the food lives up to what_ _she_ _said._

Lotta knocks on his door. "Jean, it's Atori!"

"I'll be right there," he answers, giving himself one last look in the mirror before leaving his room.

"Remember to sneak a pastry out for me!" Lotta says. Since Jean had told her about the bride's occupation, that had been on her mind. "Bye!"

"I'll try. Bye."

"Good evening!" Atori says when he opens the door. "All ready?"

"Sure."

"Then let's go!"

Atori had said the drive would be about an hour. While Jean liked her, he dreaded thinking of conversation for the entire ride's duration; he had to save some for the rest of the evening. Thankfully, she's put music on that she sings along to, and Jean looks out the window in grateful silence.

He hardly ever leaves the confines of Badon's grid for leisure, and seeing the concrete and glass give way to open sky and woods almost fools him into thinking he's left the district.

"Where's the wedding being held?" he asks, turning to face Atori.

"In a country club."

"The ceremony too?"

"Yup, outside! But it's nice out at this time. We won't melt. The air out there is so fresh you won't mind being outside!"

He returns his eyes to the view outside the window. "Hmm."

Though it is in the city's wooded outskirts, the country club is gated. After going through them, with Atori showing her invitation, they find a parking spot and follow the trail of other guests just arriving.

"Have you been to a wedding before, sir?" Atori asks him.

"Once, when I was six." The path is strewn with pink rose petals. "I don't remember much besides being bored."

"Hopefully this one's different!"

He puts his hands in his pockets. "Hopefully."

While Atori disappears to drop off the wedding present and greet her friends, Jean finds them seats. Most people have arrived; hardly any seats are left but the ones near the back. He sits down and casually glances about. Atori was right; it's quite pleasant out. It might be summer, but the day is drawing to a close, the low-lying sun throwing long shadows across the freshly clipped grass. A very light breeze occasionally tousles a dress or someone's hair or one of the hanging decorations, cooling them as it does so. He leans back against the chair, eyeing his pocket. Nino is probably busy, but Jean can send him a simple text, right? Something like _I hope your job goes smoothly_. A small encouraging message.

He isn't able to send it because Atori comes back, the ceremony about to begin.

Jean may not know much about weddings or about the couple, but as the groom and then the bride walk down the grassy aisle, he at least knows they both are very, very happy. The bride almost skips to the altar. When she is there, even at the back Jean can see how she and her soon-to-be husband look at each other. There may be dozens of guests before them, but the only ones who exist in the couple's eyes are one another. It's beautiful, and a pang of indescribable emotions reverberates in Jean. Mixed in it is something that stings like envy, something that hurts like want, something that churns like a question.

 _When I look at Nino_ , he thinks, _is that what he sees?_

The thought absorbs him, fed by the vows the couple exchange: that they were good friends first, that later the thought of simply running into each other gave them butterflies, that life didn't frighten them if they could spend it with each other.

'Each other.' Always each other.

Jean dreams alone.

For the remainder of the ceremony, he remains in a sort of daze. It's the sound of clapping that grounds him. It reminds him of where he is, and he politely joins the claps, standing with the flow of those around him as the couple walks back down the aisle, hand-in-hand and beaming. A few moments later, the guests begin to file inside the building for the food and party to come.

Beside him, Atori sniffles. "They're so perfect for each other! Now it's official."

The sweet, earthy smell of the outdoors fills his lungs. "It is."

Where the ceremony had been sweet and traditional, the reception is a loud, vibrant thing only someone as youthful as the newlyweds and their friends could possibly enjoy. Jean recognizes none of the music or dances the other attendees are enthusiastic about.

The food, though, is excellent. The main dish had been warm and filling, but the desserts have been amazing, and he commits the bride's name to memory simply to purchase her goods at her bakery. He's on his third mini strawberry tart, hanging back at his table. Atori had tried to coax him into joining her in the dance floor, or to the open bar, or to do anything really, but he has stubbornly stayed at the table by himself.

He gets some odd looks for it. He doesn't care. Being alone isn't the same as being lonely. _To the bride and groom_ , he thinks, holding his tart in front of him. _May their marriage be as good as the bride's baking_. He bites into it, looking around the spacious room. The bar is still crowded, but not as much as the dance floor.

 _Where do they get this energy from?_ he wonders _._ The colorful strobe-like lights are about to make his head hurt when he sees a small flash of white.

Right, the photographer. Everyday people needed them, too. 

He freezes when the photographer lowers their camera, giving Jean a clear view of their face. Nino's face. The tart falls from his fingers as he stands, quickly, banging his knees on the table.

"Ow," he mumbles, rubbing the spot where a bruise is sure to come. He keeps his eyes up, following Nino, who steps away from the crowd and to the next destination to photograph. Jean's heart hammers louder than the music. Should he wave his arms? Yell Nino's name? No; as much as he wants to, Nino is on a job right now. He'd be a distraction. Jean sits back down, forlorn, but he doesn't stop watching Nino.

Nino had had to work. What are the chances it'd be at the same place Jean went?

 _Please look this way_ , he mentally pleads to Nino. Then he'd surely walk over, and Jean would have an excuse to talk to him, if briefly.

Every time that it seems Nino will see him, his camera swivels to another direction. Jean's lip turns down. _You've always been good at knowing where I am_ , he thinks, _except when I want you to find me._

The newlyweds, the smiling and mingling extroverts, the elaborate food display, even the bar get photographed. People sitting by themselves in a table at the back do not.

 _I'll go up to him_ , Jean decides. _Not for long, just so that he knows I'm also here_. And then Nino will say some dumb glib thing only he could get away with, and Jean will fall that much harder before retreating back to his corner, physically and emotionally.

He's scooting out of his chair when he sees a man go up to Nino. Rather, he stumbles on him, heavily pressing a hand on Nino's shoulder.

Jean's stomach tightens. _Who is that?_

Nino doesn't seem to know them; he quickly turns to this person – the best man, Jean suddenly remembers – with that expression Jean knows is restrained annoyance masked with courteousness. He feels a little relieved. Nino doesn't know him. There is no reason for the best man to be doing that, which seems to be what Nino is telling him, removing his too-friendly hand.

He is about to walk away, but the best man is stepping in front of Nino, putting a hand against his chest, smiling in a way that turns Jean's blood to ice. Nino has always been popular. But it has never come this far, with someone touching Nino like that. With that look on their face.

Jean is halfway there, mind spinning with a dozen things to say, when the best man, noting Nino's stony face, gives up his drunken flirting and leaves.

Nino is fixing his tux when he finally sees Jean. His eyes widen. A smile, surprised but so genuine that Jean's heart does a little flip, soon follows it.

"Look who's here," Nino says. "I thought you didn't have anything going on?"

"And this is the work that came up for you?" Jean replies, smiling for the first time tonight.

"Yeah." Nino sighs, smile smaller. "I didn't think telling you it was a wedding mattered. Seems you didn't either."

The music beats at Jean's skin. "Weddings are a bit..." He trails off because he doesn't know what word comes next. What word is there to say for 'seeing people younger than me choose who they want to spend the rest of their lives with while I can't even tell you I love you makes my chest hurt'?

He doesn't need to finish his comment. Nino does it for him. "Uncomfortable."

God, his chest hurts. He can't even reply properly, only sort of nod while looking at nothing in particular.

"How do you know the bride and groom?" Nino asks.

"I don't. I came with Atori, who's the bride's friend, as replacement for Mozu."

The song changes, the quick thumping becoming a mellow ballad that tickles something in Jean's memories. It comes to him a second later, as it does for Nino, when they share a look and say, at the same time, "They played this at prom."

They laugh.

"Are we so old that the songs that were popular when we graduated are played at weddings now?" Nino asks.

"It's a good song," Jean says. He'd also liked it back then; it's catchy and easy to sing along to. The lyrics come back to him now. They're not very original – the singer goes on about a brief summer affair he can't get out of his head in typical young love – but they make Jean dizzy a little. He shuffles his feet to shift his weight. _Can you have a dance with someone over_ _twelve_ _years later?_

Nino hums, pensive. Then he says, suddenly, as if remembering, "I should go back to photographing."

Jean blinks. His field of vision widens, taking in the many attendees, each doing their own thing, at the wedding. This was a wedding. "Right."

Nino is walking away in search of the next thing a newlywed would want memorialized in pictures when Jean calls out to him. The name could be easily drowned out by the sounds of the party, but Nino hears it.

Jean's fingers dig into his palm. He swallows the nervousness away. "Let's get a drink together afterward, since you can't drink on the job."

There's Nino's smile again. "Absolutely."

"You didn't come on your bike, did you, because of your equipment?"

"Yeah, I took a cab."

"Then we can take one to my place," Jean says, somehow with feet leveled. "I have a bottle of unopened wine." His heart is hammering in his mouth.

"Sure. I'll text you when I can go home."

Jean nods, not trusting himself to speak and have Nino see his heart, still beating madly, fall out.

They part: Nino to meander and photograph like the shadow he knows how to be, Jean to return to his pretty pink-topped table and watch that shadow like his life depends on it.

It kind of might.

* * *

The guests gradually stream out, like a faucet slowly being shut. Tears are shed, congratulations are wished, hugs and kisses are exchanged.

Jean swirls his forefinger on the rim of his empty water glass. Atori had left a while ago, after he assured her he had a way home because wouldn't she know it, the photographer is his friend Nino, so they are leaving together. She'd tried to pry more information from him, but he didn't answer; she'd reluctantly accepted his reticence and said goodnight. It's him and this glass and two desserts he'd saved for Lotta and Nino hastily wrapped in a tissue and the emptying place.

With the crowd gone, Nino is easy to follow. Every now and then they'll lock eyes and Nino gives Jean a sorry-this-is-taking-so-long smile. And every time Jean smiles back and shakes his head, silently telling him it's okay, photographing is what he's there for. What his smile hopefully doesn't show is that he's enjoying the accidental eye contact. It feels illicit. Exciting.

Jean sighs, finger ceasing its circular tracing. _I have it bad._

At last, the few remaining people are leaving, and Jean's phone buzzes. 

_Wrapping up. I'm by the chocolate fondue fountain._

 

 _On my way._  

Jean figured Nino would be dipping food into the fountain, but he's actually meeting with the newlyweds. Jean stays back a good distance, not wanting to cut into the professional conversation, and also not wanting to force out a well-wishing comment to two just-married people he doesn't know and who didn't technically invite him. Nino talks with them a bit, shakes both their hands, and adds a congratulations with a polite expression. Then he turns, sees Jean, and his face softens.

 _Won't you always look at me like that?_ Jean thinks, biting the tip of his tongue.

"Sorry for the hold up," Nino says, sounding tired. "We're good now."

"Need any help with your things?"

"I'm good, thanks. Could you call for a cab, though? My hands are kinda full. You can use my phone; the number's the most recent one I dialed."

"Where's your phone?"

"Left pocket in my jacket."

Jean hesitates a moment, because this means he has to fumble with something Nino is wearing _while_ he is wearing it and pretend it doesn't mean anything. But he tucks his hand inside, feeling the silk of Nino's jacket.

"Wait," Nino says. He clears his throat. "My left is your right."

"Sorry," Jean mumbles, switching sides, hand brushing Nino's chest.

"It's fine, that was my bad for not specifying."

The lump of the phone is easy to find. He grabs it and calls as the two head outside. The night is cool and quiet. Not even the rumble of cars disturb it.

"It'll be about a twenty-minute wait," Jean says, hanging up.

"That's not so bad for not being in the city proper."

"In the meantime, here." Jean hands him a tissue-wrapped dessert. "I wasn't sure if you were allowed to eat too, so I saved you a mini tart."

"Oh. Thank you." He unwraps it. He grins. "Chocolate."

Jean feels warm, despite the temperature. "What else?"

"You didn't also sneak a glass of wine out by any chance?"

Jean chuckles. "No. I didn't drink any alcohol, actually." He nudges a pebble by his foot, sending it into tiny tumbles. "I wanted to wait until we both could."

Nino smiles. "That was nice of you."

"It's nothing." It really isn't, and still Jean feels like he's glowing.

Nino quietly eats his tart. Jean keeps his eyes forward, waiting for the bright headlights of their cab. It comes in fifteen minutes rather than the expected twenty. They don't talk much either in the car – not because of a lack of things to say, but because silence is their friend, as well. And in the blue-black of night, passing through the sleeping city twinkling with lights, speaking seems like it would break this dreamy haze.

When they pull up to Jean's apartment, he insists he's paying for the fare. Nino doesn't let him, and they split the bill, paying in cash. They go up the steps and then up the elevator all the way to Jean's floor.

"Make yourself at home," Jean says, unlocking the door. "But don't make much noise, because Lotta-"

There is a colorful handwritten note left on the kitchen counter: 

_Hi Jean!_

_Hope the wedding was fun. Or, knowing you, that the food was good. A friend invited me to her house so I'm spending the night there. Back tomorrow at noonish. Don't eat whatever you brought me back!_

_-Lotta_  

"-is not here, never mind," Jean finishes. A second later, he processes the situation. He is alone with Nino, in the comfort of his own home, with a promised bottle of wine to share and a dangerous longing he's kept caged. It was difficult to keep it so while sober, but drunk? Here? _One glass for me and that's it_ , he decides, cheeks hot.

Nino has put down his equipment on the sofa. "So where's that wine you mentioned?" he asks, all easy smiles.

Jean should find a way out of this. The weight of the moment is too much for him sober, much less drunk.

But. He really wants to spend the remaining hours of the night with Nino. Even if it's just like this. Two people drinking. Two friends. Two friends going back years and years, fitting together like the summer sun against the blue of the sky. It was as natural, as expected, that it would grow to love. If silently, if one-sidedly.

Jean's fingernails leave the imprints of half-moons on the inside of his hands.

Half a glass. He'll have half of a glass.

He goes to the kitchen to get the wine. Nino has already sat on the sofa, looking perfectly in place in Jean's house, so much so that Jean's heart aches, swinging heavily as if on a flimsy string. The two of _them_ would be perfect together. He's certain. How could they not be, when all they know is each other, when all they admittedly want to know is each other? He also knows this is a terribly selfish thought. What he thinks is not what Nino thinks nor what he wants.

The duality gnaws at him.

With the stems of the wine glasses nestled between his fingers of his left hand, and the wine bottle held in his right, he returns to the living room. Glasses go on the table, delicately. Wine goes inside the glasses, burbling happily. Jean goes on the sofa, at a respectable distance from Nino. Painfully.

"Thanks," Nino says, reaching for his glass, and raising it to toast Jean. "To the newlyweds, since they hired me. May they have happiness or whatever."

A thin laugh escapes Jean. He grabs his own glass and clinks it to Nino's. "Or whatever."

"When I do weddings, I never really pay attention to the vows," Nino says, swishing his wine, but the way he says it and the way he holds himself don't seem truthful.

"I paid attention," Jean says, looking at the floor.

"Oh? What'd they say? The usual 'til-death-do-us-part?"

Jean takes a drink. Too quickly, it seems; his head spins. "Yeah, but they also brought up how they met. How they realized over time they were meant for each other." He takes another drink, carefully now. "Their vows were full of small, personal things, so I wasn't too sure what they were talking about. But you could tell they really loved each other." His reflection, warped on the curve of the wine glass, looks back at him. "It was nice."

"Hmm." The corner of Nino's lip quirks up. "I don't know if I can say the same about their music choices."

"Hey," Jean says, prodding Nino's side. "I liked that song we had at prom."

"You sure it's not nostalgia talking instead?"

"I'm sure. Why would I be nostalgic about prom?" he says, somewhat defensively. "We didn't do anything out of the ordinary, except we were dressed nice."

Nino smiles into his wine. "We've always gotten away from everyone else to hang out together," he says, "haven't we?"

Jean swallows with difficulty, slipping his free hand under his thigh before it betrays him by pushing Nino down on the sofa. "Yeah." He drinks his wine, but gulps mostly air. He's out already. "We're doing it right now."

"We really are." Nino eyes Jean's empty glass. He reaches over and pours him more without asking. There is nothing unusual about that; when they drink together, the alcohol tends to flow on until Jean passes out. But this time, Jean doesn't want more. Well, he kind of does. It's that he shouldn't. Half a glass was safe. Anything more, though...

"Did you like the wedding?" Nino asks.

Jean mulls on it. "I... don't know. The food was good. And I-" He cuts himself off.

"And you what?"

"Nothing," he says, pink dusting his cheeks. _Don't tell him you wanted to dance with him._

"You were _definitely_ going to say something," Nino teases.

"I wasn't." Nervously, Jean downs a third of his wine, making his eyes water.

Nino leans back on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. His expression is difficult to read, but maybe that's the wine pumping in Jean's veins confusing his brain. "Did it make you want to get married, too?"

Jean takes a shallow breath in. That was not what he had been expecting Nino to guess.

Nino's laugh is quiet, and not very authentic. "Most people our age are already married or getting married. It almost feels like we're missing out on something." He sips his wine. "I know that's not the attitude to have, and I usually don't, but- I don't know, the wedding reminded me I'm getting older, and what do I have to show I've lived?"

Jean speaks without thinking. "You have me."

Even having drunk more wine than usual, he knows what he has said should not have been. The words hang in the air as thick as fog, but they do not hide Jean's blush that gets hotter the longer Nino, statue-still, takes to reply.

"I know," he finally replies, his inflection at the end making it seem like he has something else to say.

He doesn't.

They are never uncomfortable in each other's presence. But there is something between them right now that makes it difficult to make eye contact or to say anything else. Jean's head pounds. Or maybe it's his heart. No, it's both. He downs his wine.

"It's kinda warm," he announces, "I'm gonna turn down – up? – the AC." He stands, head reeling from how fast he does so, and he almost falls back on the sofa.

Nino catches him. "You okay?"

The outline of his hand burns into Jean's arm. _No_ _,_ he thinks _._ Instead, he mutters something that might sound like 'yes,' and Nino lets him go.

Jean makes an effort not to look at him until he's at the thermostat, setting it a few degrees cooler. Then his eyes wander to Nino. Though he stares down at his wine, his expression is distant. His usual turtleneck is replaced with the white low-collared dress shirt of his tailored suit. The cloth hugs him at all the right places, and where it doesn't – at the neck – it leaves the bump of his Adam's apple prominent.

 _I want to kiss it_ , Jean thinks. _I want to kiss him everywhere._ The cool of the air conditioning is doing nothing to soothe the fire burning through Jean's entire body.

He walks back to the sofa, eyes on Nino the whole time. Nino looks up and gives him a small you're-here-and-I'm-here smile, a smile that doesn't mean much to him, a smile that means everything to Jean.

"Music," Jean says, the word gliding up to his tongue after persisting as a hum in his synapses. "We need music."

"Music?"

It's that song from prom, the song from the wedding. It has quietly played in the back of his head, a self-made soundtrack. "Yes. Music. Show up those people getting married. We can have fun here, too."

Nino chuckles. He gets his phone out from his pocket. "Alright. What song do you want?"

Jean swallows down that cliche pre-chorus lyric about love. The song has a proper name. He just can't remember it. "That song from prom that they also had at the wedding."

Nino looks at him, steadily, yet it dizzies Jean. One, two, three seconds tick by like this as his mind swims, as his lungs fill up with this strange, murky water between them. "Okay," Nino says at last, tapping on his phone.

Jean exhales, having found air after all.

Soon, the song fills the living room, tinny despite being at full volume. Nino sets his phone on the table. The wood somewhat amplifies its sound.

They avoid looking at each other. _What now?_ Jean thinks. _Do I tell him I want a dance?_   He pours himself more wine and quickly drinks half. It aggravates the thumping in his temples.

"I really can't believe they chose this for a wedding song," Nino says. "I mean, lyrically it makes sense, but I can only think of high school-"

"Nino," Jean says, voice too loud even in his own ears, "we never got to dance."

Nino looks at him, confused.

"At the wedding," Jean continues. He has no control over his mouth, spilling all of his thoughts the moment they develop. "And at prom. Same song. No dance."

"I thought you didn't care about dancing," Nino says, though he's setting his wine glass on the table. His feet are angled to Jean.

"If it's you... it's okay." Head down, he fiddles with his bow tie. "It's really okay."

"You're drunk," Nino says, softly. The left corner of his mouth is turned up into a smile. If it could be called that. It doesn't reach his eyes. They're terribly blue – in their color, and in their emotion.

"Nino, why are you sad?" Jean asks, leaning in closer to study him. "Let's dance."

Nino bites the inside of his lip. Turns his head aside. Back to Jean. "A dance," he says. A hint of a real smile plays on his lips. "Okay."

He stands, Jean taking his hand without thinking, Nino pulling him up without question. The song is two-thirds over, so with the hand not warmly holding Jean's, Nino reaches for his phone and starts it anew. When he faces Jean, Jean sees himself reflected in Nino's eyes, and dimly notes he's as nervous as Nino.

"Well," Nino says. "We should probably stand closer."

They take a step to each other at the same time, but Jean miscalculates the distance and bumps the toe of Nino's left shoe. "Sorry," he mumbles, head down, because if he picks his head back up Nino will see how pink he is.

"It's fine." Nino pauses. "I don't actually know how to dance."

Jean manages to look up, and he's laughing. "Me, either."

That unnameable tightrope tension slackens. Nino laughs, too. "Were you hoping I knew?"

"I thought you would. You know a lot."

"This is unfortunately outside my area of expertise."

"We can figure it out." He looks at their left hands, still loosely linked. "I think one of us has to put a hand on the other's waist? And the other one... I dunno."

"The shoulder, I think," Nino says, as he moves Jean's hand there, putting his own hand on Jean's waist. The touch electrifies Jean, sending a brief shock of sobriety through him. Nino rests his hand on him gingerly, but still it does this to him. Jean briefly squeezes Nino's shoulder as his other hand finds Nino's, fingers clumsily twining through his.

"I think we do that," Jean says, "with our other hands."

"That feels r- seems. Seems right."

Because Nino is taller, Jean has to look slightly up to meet his gaze. It's the best view he could ask for.

"What now?" Nino asks, eyes searching Jean's face in a way that sets his heart rate at twice the speed of the song.

"Now," he says, "we dance."

They both try to take a step forward and run into each other.

"So we didn't plan that well," Nino mumbles, and they break into quiet laughter.

"You step forward, I step back?" Jean suggests.

"Yes, I think based on how I'm holding you, that's what we do." They glance at where Nino's hand is settled on Jean's waist. "Let's try again."

"The song," Jean says, now noticing the lack of voice and instruments. "You need to play it again."

Nino lets go of Jean's hand, but not his waist, and replays the music. Eyes on Jean, his hand blindly refinds his. For one bar that seems to stretch on a century they stand like that. It's all too much for Jean, and yet he can't look away. Here is Nino, a kiss away, holding him, a song from their past permeating their present. He doesn't want to move.

But he does, because Nino takes the first step, and Jean finds himself following, but backwards. He's not sober, so his feet are far from graceful, but Nino doesn't tease him. They wordlessly trace simple shapes around the living room, in time to the peaceful beat. Once, Jean almost trips, and Nino clasps his hand tighter, pulling him a breath closer. It keeps him from falling. Physically, at least. Because he's already fallen for Nino as far as he can go.

The drumming of his heart makes its own percussive song.

"You know," Nino suddenly says in that low, low voice of his, "I don't think this is how you dance to this song."

Jean shifts his hand in Nino's a little. "Probably not. It's a pop song. But I especially don't know how to do those kinds of dances."

"I don't know if they have any. I think people mostly just... hold each other and circle in place to these kinds of songs."

"We're the exception."

Nino's smile is soft. "We are, huh?"

Jean exhales a little shakily. "We don't have to be." And he wraps his hands behind Nino's neck, lightly, because a tighter hold will break this moment.

Nino stops moving. He's silent. Even his breathing. His hand has frozen where Jean's own left it. The hand still on Jean's waist is tense.

"Nino, I want you," Jean says, breathless, eyes level on Nino's.

"You're drunk," Nino repeats, hoarsely. He untangles himself from Jean and grabs his phone. Like he's about to leave.

"May- maybe," Jean admits, feeling a surge of panic through his intoxication. He trails after Nino. "But I still- I want to kiss you, and-"

Nino closes his eyes. "Jean, just drop it." He sounds so... tired? Pained? He opens his eyes again, and though he stands close to Jean, he seems so far away. "This is the alcohol and post-wedding blues talking. Get some sleep; you'll be fine again in the morning."

"It's not-" Jean reaches for Nino.

Nino, wincing, slips past Jean's hand like the wind.

Somehow that hurts most of all.

"I'll be going now," Nino says, heading for the door, speaking to it. "You really should go to sleep. Tomorrow you'll forget this even happened."

"Nino, wait, _please_ -"

The sound of the door closing behind him is as harsh as a spoken refusal. The emptiness Nino leaves with Jean echoes in his ears.

A lump, there is a lump the size of his heart in his throat. He can't swallow it back down, though; his mouth is dry. All the water in him has made its way to his eyes, blurring his vision, which tells him the world is sinking – no, it's just him, his legs having given way. Crumpling, sliding down the door, the wetness in his eyes only grows, refusing to fall. His breathing is ragged, manual: in and out, in and-

"Fuck," he warbles, crying into the thick silence, the only thing unbroken.


	9. Chapter 9

Jean wakes up on the sofa, face-down, breathing in the soft fabric of the cushion. It feels a bit damp, though. Groggily, head pounding and limbs protesting, he sits up. Beneath him are two thin wet patches, mostly dried. He brings a hand up to his eyes. Tears.

He feels them press hotly at the backs of his eyes as the events of last night tumble into his head like an avalanche.

What had come over him? Why had he kept drinking, knowing his grip on himself would loosen and lead to decisions he'd later regret? He hadn't even tried to refute what he'd said. It was out there, now, stored as much in Nino as himself.

Except Nino hadn't believed him. The alcohol, he'd said it was the alcohol making Jean say those things, as well as being witness to a wedding. Was it that unthinkable to Nino that Jean would end up in love with him?

Wait. Jean hadn't actually said he loved him, had he? He'd said he'd wanted him. Which was – _is_ – true. But anyone can want someone else, especially when drunk and perennially single and often complaining of it to that someone else.

Through his teeth, Jean hisses in a breath. Of course Nino had acted like that. To him it had seemed as if Jean had come on to him because a wedding had reminded him of his loneliness. Like Nino would be a cheap solution for that night's desolation. Nino wouldn't dismiss him so quickly if he'd thought Jean had meant it.

 _I have to tell him_ _again_ , Jean thinks, standing up. He's woozy, but makes it to the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water he thirstily gulps down. _He has to know I love him_. Neither of them would be able to pretend last night had never occurred. Jean can't, and won't, take it back. So he'll say it all.

The door rattles. Lotta comes in, bag in tow, humming to herself.

"I'm back!" She spots Jean. "You look _awful_!"

"Good morning to you, too." His voice sounds and feels as if it has been run over. He rubs the sleep – and everything else – from his eyes.

"It's actually a bit past twelve, but thank you." She walks up to Jean, looking worried. "Did you just wake up? What happened that would leave you like this?" She gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Are you fighting with Nino or something?"

He flinches. Is he so obvious?

Lotta's expression softens. "Friends argue too, you know. Just because you two rarely do so doesn't mean he hates you all of a sudden."

He picks up the glass of water. It is empty, and yet feels heavy. "It wasn't really an argument."

"What was it, then?"

He refills the glass. Drinks. Looks at the clock merrily ticking on the wall. "I was drunk and tried to tell him I love him, but I messed it up."

She puts her hands on her hips. "Jean! That was a terrible idea! There's no way he'd have thought you were being genuine if you were drunk."

"I know," he says. And pauses. "You're not surprised I love him?"

"I had my suspicions." She smiles. "It's almost like it was supposed to happen, if that makes sense?"

He leans on the counter, smiling a little despite himself. "It does."

"You need to go see him, though, and make things right!" She walks behind him and nudges him down the hallway. "But shower and stuff first. You're a _mess_."

She's mature beyond her years.

Once clean and changed, he goes back to the living room, and stands there as if rooted.

"What are you doing?" Lotta asks, having tea accompanied by the wedding pastry Jean had brought for her.

Seeing it makes his stomach sink. "How am I going to go about this?"

"By walking over there and _saying_ something." She sets her mug down with a clink. "I think you're nervous he'll be mad at you. But this is  _Nino_ _._ He's not gonna be. You two always know what to say to each other. This time it's a bit more awkward, but you can figure out what you need to say all the same." She waggles a finger at Jean. "You're an adult and here's your little sister telling you these obvious things." She says this, but her smile is kind.

"I was just thinking that." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm kind of lightheaded."

"Have you eaten anything yet? You looked just woken-up when I came in."

He puts a hand on his stomach, which seems to cave inward. "Oh."

He's not too hungry, so he munches on an apple while thinking of what exactly he's going to say to Nino. By the time he's reached the core of the fruit, he knows.

"I'll be going now," he says, and makes his way out of the door before he hears Lotta's encouraging response. It's just him and his thoughts now, making their way through the streets that lead him to where Nino lives.

Jean mentally rehearses his speech – what to say, how to say it – all the way to Nino's apartment. He'd started off confidently, kindled by a desire to finally, _finally_ unshackle his self-imposed iron chains. But by the time he's on Nino's street, the strength in him has almost entirely left him, replaced by heart-pounding dread. His vision blurs, and he stops, leaning on a wall, taking measured, deep breaths.

 _Even if he really rejects me,_ he thinks, _I have his friendship._ His fingers grip the rough brick of the wall. _I'll still have that much_ _,_ _r_ _ight?_

He shakes his head, as if the physical act will rid him of his last doubts. _I_ will _have that much._ Like Lotta had said, this was _Nino_.

He straightens and walks on.

So there he stands. In front of Nino's door. His mouth, however dry it is, takes up the shape of the first thing he wants to say. He raises his hand to knock, however obvious the rapid pulsing at his wrist may be.

Nino opens the door.

They exchange a look of surprise, each remaining as still as a picture: Jean with his raised arm, Nino with his hand on the doorknob. The seconds they stand there, motionless, stretch to years.

"Jean," Nino says, and hearing his name from him returns time back to normal. "This is unexpected."

Jean brings his arm down. The word on his tongue has turned to dust. _What was I going to say?_

"Jean?" Nino says, again, and it makes Jean truly _look_ at him. His hair is naturally mussed, like always, and it makes Jean's fingers twitch from wanting to touch it. From far away, Nino seems much younger, but on closer glance, there are the finest of fine lines beginning to etch the corners of his eyes. His eyes. There is no river nor lake nor ocean quite the color of Nino's eyes, and Jean hopes there never isn't; this blue, swimming with emotion, is Nino's and Nino's alone. They're creased with worry now, as is his mouth. Even now, when he should rightfully feel uncertain from yesterday's events, when Jean has shown up out of nowhere without yet saying why, Nino is worried about him.

"Nino," Jean starts, the only way he possibly could. His voice trembles. "About last night. I made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you in that position, and I won't do so again, even if I've had a bottle of wine." His fingernails dig into his palms. "You thought it was just the alcohol making me say things, but it wasn't. I didn't say what I meant to that well. So I'm trying again." He turns his head down, fills his lungs with as much air as he can, and picks his head back up. "I love you."

The moment the words are free from him, his very bones feel lighter, and Nino's eyes go as wide as Jean's ever seen them while his hand falls limply from the doorknob.

Neither of them does anything, Jean from waiting for Nino's response, Nino out of... what, exactly? Jean bites the inside of his lip.

And then. Nino's eyes come to a half-close, dark and deep and darker and deeper right in front of his face, which Nino's right hand cups so lightly Jean almost doesn't feel it at all. What he _does_ feel, with every nerve in his body singing, is Nino's lips on his, gentle and soft. Jean's knees would have given way were it not for Nino holding him up with his other hand curling itself around his waist – or maybe that's exactly why he would have fallen. A bit of both, probably. God, it doesn't matter; Nino's _kissing_ him and Jean's kissing him back, throwing his arms around Nino's back.

Nino steps back inside his apartment, and Jean follows, pulled to him like iron to a magnet. Unable and unwanting to break from each other, they stumble blindly into Nino's apartment, Jean hurriedly closing the door behind him with the back of his shoe. The door clicks shut, and in their privacy, Nino moves. His lips travel down to Jean's neck; his hands travel up to Jean's shoulder blades, grabbing on to him as if any looser hold would part them.

 _And nothing ever will._ Jean cradles the back of Nino's head, fingers running through the silk of his hair.

His breathing, already light, grows lighter still when Nino bites him – not too hard, but enough that a small cry of surprise and pleasure leaves him.

Nino raises his head, his hair tickling Jean's cheek. "Did I hurt you?" he asks in a gravelly murmur.

Jean shakes his head. "No, it was just- it was unexpected." He swallows, painfully aware of how much every part of him wants Nino. "You can do it again, if you want."

Nino leans back into Jean's neck, smiling into his skin, and somehow that's even more dizzying. "You know," he says, lips grazing over the curve of Jean's neck, "'I love you' is all you've ever had to say."

Jean's hand goes to Nino's cheek, lifting his face level with his. In the depths of Nino's eyes is Jean's reflection, drowning. "Then I'll say it again," he breathes, bringing their foreheads together.

"Please," Nino whispers against Jean's mouth.

"I-" A chaste kiss. "-love-" Another, a heartbeat longer. "-you."

And he kisses him like he never will again. But he will. Every day. He has time to make up for.

And Nino. Nino, the only thing he can see or feel or think about right now – how long has _he_ waited for this, for Jean to touch him like this? Jean has _so_ much time to make up for.

And he'll do it. God, he will do it.

He presses the entirety of himself against Nino. Every angle and curve where they meet, by skin or cloth, burns hotter with each shallow breath they take, full of the other.

Nino's hand goes to the small of Jean's back, pushing him closer, wordlessly insisting there is still too much distance between them. Complying, Jean hops forward to wrap his legs around Nino, who easily holds him up with palms on the back of Jean's thighs.

The tantalizing friction between them is impossible to ignore now. Soft sounds slip from Jean. Mid-kiss, he gasps out, "Bed."

Nino's eyes are half-lidded and full of want, yet he asks, "Are you sure?"

Jean grips at him. "Yes."

With Jean still clinging to him, through the desperately-growing kisses, Nino leads them to his bedroom. He puts Jean down, fingers fumbling at the hem of Jean's shirt, brushing Jean's skin as he pulls it off him with barely a pause in their kiss. Chest suddenly exposed to cool air, exposed to _Nino_ , Jean feels a shiver from his lower back up to his scalp.

For a moment, Nino's eyes linger on Jean as tangibly as if it were his hands instead.

"You're so beautiful, Jean," he whispers.

Jean sits up. "I want to see you, too," he says, unbuttoning Nino's shirt, hands shaking a little. Nino himself does not possess his usual unflappable demeanor. His breathing tickles Jean's hands. He savors it.

Jean has seen him shirtless, yes. But not like this. Slowly, he puts his hand flat on Nino's chest, feelings its warmth, feeling its muscles. On Nino's upper back he'd find two pink scars, roughly circular. Jean removes his hand and brings it to his lips. Then he coils that arm around Nino, lightly putting his fingers to those scars. He rests his chin on Nino's shoulder.

An apology for being the reason the scars exist would be useless. Nino would not accept it; Jean knows he'd jump in front of a gun for him again without hesitation. And it would be belittling how much Jean means to Nino.

So, despite the guilt, Jean accepts them.

"I love all of you," he murmurs.

Nino gently pushes him back down, leaning in to the dip in Jean's collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses from there to the bottom of Jean's ribs, and pauses. Jean's chest is precariously rising and falling.

They lock eyes.

"Don't stop there," Jean whispers, fingers woven in Nino's hair. "I've never wanted anything more than you."

Nino works off Jean's pants, lips brushing against his skin as he softly says, "Me, either." 

* * *

In the murky hours between midnight and sunrise, Jean wakes on his back, and his first thought is, _This isn't my room._

His cognizance of reality trickles back to him, and his immediate second thought is, _Because I slept with Nino._

He turns his head. There Nino is, shadowed and in sleep. One of his hands is burrowed beneath his pillow; the other is flatly next to him, along the imaginary divide between his half of the bed and Jean's. The bed is small, and their halves smaller yet.

 _Why_ _are we apart_ _?_ Jean wonders. He flips on his side so he faces Nino. _I still want to be close to him._ Tentatively, he places his hand beside Nino's, little finger reaching for his.

Nino stirs.

Jean holds his breath.

The sleep is not gone from his voice when Nino says, "Is that you, Jean?"

Jean silently exhales. "Yes. Sorry for waking you."

"I'm not dreaming? You're really next to me?"

Jean's lip quirks up. "I am."

Nino's little finger curls around Jean's. "Don't go."

"I won't," he whispers, reveling in that simple touch. He pauses, a smile playing on his lips as an old, familiar thought comes back to him. "When we were in Peshi, every night I wanted to reach over and touch you. I was losing my mind a little having you there and not being able to do anything."

"Just 'a little'? I lost all of my mind."

They share a quiet chuckle.

Nino laces the rest of his fingers between Jean's. Jean may not be able to see well, but he can feel Nino bring their twined hands to himself, and he _definitely_ feels how Nino's lips brush over his knuckles. "Did I ever tell you how much I like your hands?"

"Only now."

"Especially when you smoke. I know it's an unhealthy habit, but you make it look annoyingly good."

Jean sidles up to Nino, who lets go of Jean's hand to hold him close. Nino's usual scent along with the sweet-and-sweat of sex are lulling Jean back to sleep.

"I didn't actually say that I love you, did I?" Nino says.

"You showed it," Jean replies. "And I knew."

"But I didn't say." Nino tilts Jean's head up. Even though they are each nothing but shadows, Jean can tell Nino's eyes are on his. "I love you so much, Jean."

Jean takes Nino's hand and puts it to his lower back. "I love you too, Nino."

They don't say anything else. Soon, sleep returns. 

* * *

When Jean wakes up again, it is to sunlight seeping past the thin skin of his lids, turning them peach. Closed-eyed, he stretches, body aching but sweetly, then he turns and sees the spot next to him on the bed is empty.

From the kitchen comes the smell and sound of someone making breakfast.

Jean smiles to himself. He gets out of bed and searches for his clothes, but they hadn't been exactly careful about taking them off yesterday, and he only finds his boxers (under the bed) and Nino's shirt (somehow mussed between the covers). Buttoning it on, he feels a heady rush, as if he's just downed a shot of alcohol. The fit is loose on him, and the sleeves hang a bit too long. But that's part of why it makes him giddy.

Stepping out of Nino's bedroom, the distinct butteriness of cooking pancakes swirls in his lungs. Jean sees Nino flip a pancake, confirming what his nose detected.

Nino looks up. "Hey," he says, with a small smile, bordering on shy. "So that's what happened to my shirt."

 _Even he doesn't know how this works_ , Jean thinks, not without a pang of endearment. _But that's what we are going to figure out together_. "It was under the covers," Jean says, leaning against the frame of the doorless kitchen entrance. "I couldn't find mine, but did yours. I hope you don't mind."

Nino takes out the pancake he'd been cooking with his spatula, carefully pouring more batter in the pan. "It might look better on you than me."

Jean tugs on the shirt's hem, smiling to himself. "The pancakes smell really good."

"Thanks; I made them from scratch. Some are already done. Feel free to start eating."

"No, I'll wait for you. I'll get the coffee started," Jean says, joining Nino in the kitchen.

Nino's voice softens as he replies, "Okay."

Nino is done soon thereafter, as is the coffee. They sit at the dining room table, which has just two chairs. Nino's foot bumps Jean's.

"Sorry," he says. "I haven't sat with someone else here in a long time."

Rather than bend his knees inward, Jean stretches his legs, fitting them right between Nino's. "You'll have time to get used to it again," he says, smiling into the rim of his coffee mug.

Nino's own smile crinkles, his eyes fixated on Jean. "You're right, I will."

There is no awkward morning-after silence in their breakfast. It goes on like all the other ones they've shared, but now the furtive glances and private pining have changed to mutual tender gazes and small touches. If anything, Jean feels freer. No more ambiguity about what could be. They _are_.

"Wait, Jean, do you work today?"

Jean's forkful of pancake stops halfway to his mouth.

They scramble. Jean finds his pants but gives up on his own shirt, so Nino lets him keep his, and he puts on whatever shirt he'd grabbed first from his closet.

"I'll drive you home to change into your uniform," Nino says, tossing Jean a motorcycle helmet. "It'll be faster if I drive you to work, too."

Despite the anxious rush, a thrill runs up Jean's spine. "Okay."

It's not his first time on Nino's bike, yet it's more exciting now. Maybe because when he wraps his arms around Nino and presses his helmeted head to his back, it's not just a friend helping out a friend anymore.

Jean's building has private parking for its tenants, and it's where Nino goes. They head for the back entrance. Jean hurriedly presses the button for the elevator.

"Pressing it repeatedly doesn't help it get here faster," Nino says, smirking.

There is a ding, and the elevator's doors slide open.

"Interesting," Jean says.

Nino just laughs.

The elevator has plenty of room. They still choose to stand by each other, elbows brushing. Once on Jean's floor, they walk quickly to his door.

Lotta is in the dining room, eating breakfast. "About time-!" She sees Nino. Her eyes flit to meet Jean's.

Her smile is positively smug.

"I need my work uniform," Jean says, a spot of pink rising in his cheeks as he walks to his room to get it.

Nino hangs back, and Jean can hear him chat with Lotta. Knowing her, she's probably steered the conversation in the direction she wanted. Knowing Nino, he's acquiesced.

When he's done changing and returns to the living room, Lotta somehow looks _more_ smug.

"See? Things worked out," she says. "Except for forgetting about your actual work."

"Hey, Nino remembered."

"Thank goodness for that." She grins at the two of them. "You two are great together! I'm so happy for you!"

Together. Nino and Jean share a glance. Then smiles.

Jean turns back to Lotta. "See you after work," he tells her. "Come on, Nino."

"Your briefcase!" she says.

"Oh."

Nino had apparently noticed too, as he tosses it to Jean, who catches it. "Now we can go," he says, walking to the door and opening it for Jean.

"Showoff," Jean affectionately mumbles, heading out.

"Just for you," Nino replies.

Riding the motorcycle with something in hand is less comfortable. Jean, arms around Nino, has to press the briefcase to Nino's chest.

"Sorry," he says, and then remembers his helmet swallows up his voice.

The drive is smooth, so maybe it wasn't that much of a bother. But Jean, helmet off, apologizes again when Nino pulls up to his work building.

"The briefcase wasn't in my way, don't worry," Nino says. He gets out his phone. "Hey, we made it on time."

"Thank you," Jean says, handing Nino the helmet.

"Sure thing." Nino grabs the helmet.

But Jean hasn't let go yet.

"Actually," Jean says, weighing his words, "could you pick me up, too? And... maybe we could have dinner at my place?"

With his sunglasses on, Nino's smile simply looks polite. But if he looks carefully past the lenses' black color, where the sun shines at just the right angle, Jean can see Nino's eyes are doing that lovely crinkle.

Nino takes his hand off the helmet. "Sure. When do I come back for you?"

"At five," Jean says, holding the helmet close to him as if it's a bouquet instead. "I'll text you when I'm off, though."

"Alright." Nino fixes his helmet, though it doesn't seem to Jean he needed to. "Have a good day at work."

"Wait," Jean blurts, over the motorcycle's engine.

Nino turns it off. "What is it?"

Jean drums his fingers once on the helmet. Then he tucks it under his arm, leans down to Nino's level, palms his cheek, and kisses him, feather-light. If the others walking in to work are staring, he does not care.

"Thank you," he says again, as soft as his touch.

Nino puts his hand, gloved, on top of Jean's. "You had already thanked me," he says, a little bashful.

"I had," Jean says, standing back up, smiling shyly himself. "But I can never thank you enough."

Nino squeezes Jean's hand before returning to man the motorcycle's handles. "See you later, Jean."

"Mm-hmm."

The rumbling bike trails behind a plume of dark smoke. It doesn't take long for it to dissipate. When it does, Jean goes in to work, preparing to dodge all the questions his subordinates would certainly throw his way should they have seen him outside.

If the girls' open-mouthed gapes are any clues, they had. They don't ask him anything, though. The office is uncharacteristically silent as he walks in, footsteps quiet on the tile, greeting them. He gets stupefied nods in return from them, and a cheery reply from Knot, who acts no differently than normal.

Jean sits on his chair with a squeak that accentuates the silence even more. It makes him a bit uncomfortable, this lack of intrusive bombardment, or even hushed gossip between them. It's not like them.

He sets the helmet on his desk with a muffled thunk. The girls still gawk at him through the window. Jean pops his head out of his office door, clearing his throat. "We've got things to do."

That breaks it.

"That was the photographer, wasn't it?! The hot photographer who was at the wedding, too!"

"I thought he didn't want to date anyone?!"

"Yeah, what was that about?!"

"We're not here to gossip," Knot chimes in, clacking at his keyboard. "Let's be courteous."

The girls deflate and return to their desks.

Jean mouths a thank you to Knot, who gives him a thumbs up.

He tells them all during the snack break, anyway. He does it not only so his private life won't be a hotly whispered debate, but because he's giddy about it and kind of wants to share it. Yes, he's with Nino. Finally.

His cellphone buzzes. A smile comes easily to him when he sees it's from Nino. 

 _What are you thinking for dinner? Anything I need to get?_  

His smile gets sappier when he replies: 

_Whatever you'd like to have. I just want you there._

 

 _Aw, you sap._  

A small laugh escapes him, which catches Atori's attention. "Are you texting _him_?" she says, voice lilting at the end.

It might have been a mistake to let them know his relationship status, Jean reflects.

"I guess my hunch was kinda right," Atori continues. "I thought you and Rita would be cute together, but seems I was just thinking of the hair color!"

Blue. Her hair color had been blue, not quite like Nino's, but close enough it had caught his attention and reminded him of Nino. Even then.

He smiles at her. "Seems so." 

* * *

First dates for most couples mean cozy restaurants, tucked into a booth for a semblance of privacy, exchanging small talk over food. Or they can start smaller, with simple meet-ups in a small and sunny coffee shop.

Nino and Jean aren't like most couples, though.

Nino chooses the homecooked menu: pan-seared steak, mashed potatoes, roasted beets, and cheesecake for dessert. And instead of buying it all, they cook it themselves, with Lotta helping.

So it isn't a date, in the strictest sense. It is like any other day Nino is over. Yet it rings right. The three of them are a unit, have long been one. Lotta and Jean and Nino. All that differs now is Jean can sit next to Nino with thighs touching, shoot smiling glances his way, twine their hands together for no reason at all. And now it means something.

They make a lot of food, tasting best when not only eaten together but made together, and don't finish it all. After struggling to find room for the leftovers in the fridge and cleaning up used kitchenware, Lotta goes to her room.

"I'll leave you two alone now!" she chirps before closing her door.

There's a speckling of pink on Nino's cheeks that Jean thinks his own mirror, if the heat he feels in his face is any indication.

"When you were here earlier," Jean starts, "did you tell her that we, um-"

"What?! No!" Nino says. "But she, ah... probably inferred it. She's not eight anymore."

Jean lets out a silent exhale, crossing his arms. He gives Nino a small smile. "Time flies."

"Spending time with you tends to have that effect."

"You flirt," Jean says bumping his elbow with Nino's.

"At least you've picked up on it."

"Picked up on it-?" Jean feels something in his chest like the sun parting through clouds. "You've _been_ flirting with me."

Nino bumps his elbow back. "I wouldn't have done half the things I've done if I wasn't very, very taken with you."

This had been requited before Jean realized the depth of his feelings for Nino. He's hit with guilt. "I whined to you about Mauve and every bad date I'd ever been in, and you just took it?"

"That's what friends do."

"But-"

"'But' nothing," Nino says, silencing him with a finger to Jean's mouth. "It's not like I told you I was pining for you. And you're not very good at picking up on those things, either." He chuckles quietly and lowers his hand. "We're both dumb that way."

"We really are, huh?" Jean says, lips tugging into a smile.

Nino's hands find Jean's. "We just needed a wedding and some wine, apparently."

"Maybe we should buy that couple an expensive present not only as congratulations but as thanks."

Nino laughs. "I have to go deliver the physical copies of their photos tomorrow, so if you have any ideas, you buy it and I'll bring it to them."

"I was kidding."

Nino presses a kiss to his forehead. "I know."

"Did you already finish touching up the photos, then?"

"Yeah. Being here isn't interfering with my work."

 _Good thing_. Jean lets go of Nino's hands to wrap his arms around him. He looks up at him. "So... stay a little longer?"

"You don't need to ask."

They settle on the sofa.

The movie they put on goes mostly unwatched. Jean only knows the movie is over when a string of instrumental music burrows into his ears, above the soft sounds of kissing Nino. He opens an eye and sees the television screen roll the credits to a movie whose plot he could not explain. He smirks.

Nino pulls away, but keeps his hand on Jean's cheek. Warm and comforting. He follows Jean's line of sight. "The movie's over?"

"Apparently."

Nino's laugh is quiet as he rests his forehead against Jean's. "God, we were like teens at a theater."

Jean's smirk widens. "We had time to make up for."

"Mmm."

They're so close Jean's vision is blurry, yet still Nino is the only one he wants to look at. The only one he wants to be by. But it is night, and they have work to return to tomorrow. Unfortunately.

Jean sighs, laying his cheek on Nino's collarbone. Nino, being Nino, knows what Jean has thought without having heard it. He tenderly runs his hand through Jean's hair. Jean could fall asleep on him like this.

"When do you next have time off?" Nino asks. "Besides after work."

"I think I don't work the day after tomorrow."

"Can you check?"

"Yes. Hold on." Jean shifts to better pat his pockets in search of his phone, though he loses his comfortable place snuggled against Nino. He finds his phone and looks through his schedule. "I was right. I don't work the day after tomorrow." He grins. "Are we doing something?"

"I was thinking," Nino says, stopping to cough lightly. "We, um, could go on our first official date?"

What Jean wants to ask is _We've already made out and had sex,_ _so_ _why are you pink?_   but he refrains from doing so, being certain he is as well. They'd done things out of the normal order. Then again, they aren't a normal couple. "I'd like that," he says instead, grin softening. "I'd like that a lot."


	10. Chapter 10

The plan was for Nino to swing by around two, where they'd go to one of Badon's tallest skyscrapers for lunch. There was no rush to be had in the morning, yet Jean wakes up at seven after a fitful night's rest. Though awake, he remains lying down, eyes straight on the ceiling.

He's going on a date with Nino.

Dreams aren't just for sleep anymore.

Excitement and nerves had kept him up through the night. Now that it is day, they course through him like a drug so that he is completely alert. It's silly, he knows. Nino is no stranger to him. The only difference between meeting with him today and having met with him all those previous times is that he can now touch him. Granted, part of the reason he's restless is precisely because of that.

Time can't seem to tick by fast enough. It goes at its own pace, just as it always has. Jean is forced to follow its whims.

Around one, he showers and changes. He doesn't spend long thinking of what to wear, simply grabbing something he likes. He wonders if Lotta will critique him. When she doesn't, he asks why.

"That outfit is good," she says. "Anyway, it's Nino. If you showed up in a potato sack, he'd still compliment you."

"You think so?"

"No, I _know_ so." She rests her hands under her chin, elbows on the kitchen counter. She's smiling. "You two are so cute! But also so dumb."

"'Dumb'?"

"I think you've been flirting with each other forever only kind of aware you were doing it."

He half sighs, half laughs. "You're not wrong at all."

"See?" She grins. "Dumb."

At two on the dot, their security camera buzzes. Jean answers it, heart speeding up. Of course it's Nino, smiling and lazily waving at him through the camera.

"Have fun!" Lotta calls as he steps out.

Jean closes the door behind him. Nino doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands now that he's here. He settles for putting them in his pockets.

"Um, hi," Nino says.

Jean's restlessness leaves him all at once, and he is filled with that same comfort and peace being by Nino has always brought him. Lotta was right: this is Nino. There's nothing to be afraid of.

He reaches for Nino's wrist, tugging him down to kiss his cheek. "Hi," he says against it. When he straightens, Nino is more of his usual self. His posture relaxes and he gives Jean a crinkly-eyed smile.

"I'm still not too sure any of this is real," he says, with a quiet laugh.

Jean slides his hand down, linking his fingers through the spaces between Nino's. They are each two pieces of a grander jigsaw puzzle encompassing the kingdom, and they'd found each other. A perfect fit.

"This is real," Jean says, as much as for Nino as for himself, "and if you need reminding, I'll give it to you."

"How so?"

He squeezes Nino's hand. "Like that. You've not woken up, have you?"

Nino's laugh is stronger but no less lovely. "Seems not."

"Because you're very much awake already."

Nino squeezes Jean's hand back. "Seems so."

They take the subway. Nino's motorcycle would have gotten them there faster, but more time with Nino is far from a problem. Besides, the way the subway rocks and turns makes Jean bump into Nino. So Nino wraps his arm around Jean, holding him close, and it feels better than clinging on to him on a bike.

Stepping out of the subway and up into this summer afternoon's bright lights, reflected off the glass skyscrapers, blinds Jean. He squints, holding a hand up to his eyes. Then something is being slid on his face, suddenly darkening the city.

"You look like you need my sunglasses more than me," Nino says, a hint of a smile on his voice.

Jean blinks at him, adjusting to the change in colors. It is better. But these sunglasses are Nino's. "Are you sure?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, okay." He smiles himself. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Maybe we should get you your own."

"No, it's too late," Jean says, pushing the glasses up by the temples. "These are mine now."

"They do look better on you."

"Now you're just trying to flatter me."

"When am I not?"

Jean bites back a flustered smile.

As they walk, their hands brush. The first few times are on accident – from their proximity, from the simple action of walking. But the fifth time around, their fingers curl around each other's, and they get to the skyscraper hand-in-hand.

Jean hands back Nino's sunglasses when they're inside. He pockets them, motioning for the two to head to the elevator.

"What floor is it on?" Jean asks, looking at the array of buttons for all the floors, over double the number of his apartment building.

"The forty-seventh."

Jean presses it. "There's no dress code, right?"

"No. We're dressed smartly, though."

Jean raises an eyebrow, smirking. "'Smartly'?"

"Yeah, like 'nice'. Why are you making fun of my word choices?"

"I wasn't."

"Your expression says otherwise."

Jean can't help it and breaks into laughter he muffles behind his hand. It's a good thing they're alone, because Nino playfully tries to wring away Jean's hand, which only makes Jean laugh the harder. Nino succeeds, and brings Jean's hand to his lips.

This is what a date with Nino looks like: the ease of always, but with kisses thrown in.

 _It_ was _always meant to be you_ , Jean thinks again, the sudden stop of the elevator and his own overwhelming affection flipping his stomach over.

Nino lets Jean step out first, but as it is Nino who has made the reservation, it's Jean who follows him.

Their seat is by a window – purposefully chosen by Nino – that puts them at a higher place above the city than Jean has been in, barring a plane. But a plane was constantly moving. This skyscraper is fixed. Jean can walk across its spacious floor, innumerable lives happening far beneath his feet. Lives he can observe out the window; lives that, when he goes back down, will include his.

Jean looks up at Nino from the menu.

 _And his_ , he thinks.

Nino seems to sense Jean's eyes are on him; he too looks up. "Have you decided what you want yet?"

"No," Jean says. Truth be told, he hasn't read it, as he's been lost in thought.

"Too many things sound good that I can't decide, either," Nino mumbles.

Jean smiles to himself. His eyes flit to the desserts. "Well. I'm going to get that strawberry sorbet."

"Wait until you've eaten something prop- 'double chocolate skillet brownie'?" Nino reads.

Jean chuckles. "I thought that'd get your attention."

"I'll admit it's tempting to skip an actual meal and just have desserts," Nino says, "but they're probably very small. They won't last us long or fill us up."

"And we did come all this way," Jean adds.

"We can be adults."

"We can."

A pause.

"Maybe we could get one entrée," Jean suggests.

"And we split?"

"Yeah."

" _Then_ dessert."

"We'll have more room for it."

"We could even order more. Since the portions will likely be small."

Jean closes the menu, smiling. "That sounds perfect."

They share roasted cod and a side of caramelized vegetables. It's unsurprisingly delicious, but it was a good choice to split, as the desserts are even more delicious. The sorbets are indeed small, so Jean ends up having two. They're shared with Nino, obviously. Nino does the same with his own dessert, which truly is skillet-sized, and it takes both of them to finish it.

Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't. Like always. Because it's Nino, it's not unnerving. Like always. It really is just another day together. Only the intentions have changed.

They split the bill and go to the observation deck on the top floor, it being the reason they'd chosen to eat here.

This isn't the tallest skyscraper in Badon, but it does provide the greatest panorama of the city. Badon's iconic skyline and sprawling metropolis surround them on all sides. Even the ship-dotted harbor, changing into the sea which curves on to meet the sky, is visible. The sounds of the city, deafening at ground level, hardly exist at this height. It's the stirring of the wind carrying the murmured conversations of others up here that Jean hears.

Nino's voice takes precedence, of course.

"Even your balcony doesn't have this view," he says, close to Jean's ear, tickling it.

"It is nicer here," Jean agrees, half turning toward him. "I wouldn't live in this area, though. It's too busy."

"I wouldn't either," Nino says. He smiles. "That's why we visit, instead."

Jean smiles back, and realizes Nino doesn't have his camera on him. "You're not taking pictures?"

"No, I am," Nino says. He pulls out his phone. "With this."

"Can you send them to me? Your phone takes better pictures than mine, and Lotta will be upset if I don't show her anything that we see today."

Nino's response is to point his phone at Jean and snap a picture. "She'll be used to some of these sights, but sure."

He takes individual pictures of the deck's four sides, as well as a panorama. He tells Jean not to move, but Jean sneezing impedes that. The resulting picture beautifully captures the city but warps Jean's blurred, sneezing face unnaturally, and it makes both of them laugh so much Nino doesn't delete it. Nino takes plenty of other pictures of Jean alone that turn out quite well. Or so Nino says, smiling after each shot.

Nino lingers on one of Jean staring at the horizon.

"Did I not look dramatic enough?" Jean jokes.

"I was just thinking," Nino says, evenly meeting Jean's eyes. "Can we take one together?"

"Yes, but you know that," Jean says, though his heart sings. "We took some pictures together in Peshi."

"That was different. It wasn't just the two of us because it wasn't a date."

Jean's hand wraps around Nino's wrist. He can feel Nino's fluttering pulse, matching his own. "It's even more of a 'yes' now."

Nino smiles. "Here," he says, pulling Jean in for a sideways embrace. He coils an arm around Jean's waist; the other holds his phone in front of them. Jean wraps his own arms around Nino without thinking about it. It's the most natural thing in the world, being pressed against him like this.

"Okay, on 'three'," Nino says.

Jean knows he's supposed to be looking at the camera, but as Nino counts, and as the realness of this moment seeps into his core, he turns his gaze to Nino, still here after all this time.

"Jean, you didn't look at the camera," Nino says, bringing his arm back in to look at the picture. He holds his phone at an angle such that Jean can see.

And he sees forhimself how it is he looks at Nino. The corner of his mouth is turned sweetly up, and his eyes, though half-lidded, catch the sunlight and glisten the more.

"Actually, that might not have been so bad," Nino mumbles. He clears his throat. "Let's do another one. But look ahead this time."

Jean obliges. In this picture, they're both a little pink.

When the skyline has become fully ingrained into their heads, they go back down to street level. The streets have grown busier with people, and Jean walks close to Nino, their hands finding one another's again. It's only four o'clock; the day is far from over. Jean wants to spend more time with Nino but cannot think of anything to do. They've just eaten. It's too early for drinks. Maybe-

"Want to go to a park?" Nino asks.

"Yes," Jean answers.

They're close to Badon's biggest park, and it is where they go. It's a green escape from the gray urban chaos. The deeper they venture, the more the busy sounds of traffic fade to nothing, replaced by the whisper of breeze-tousled leaves, of birds in song, of burbling brooks.

They have both been here before, but never like this. The same things Jean has experienced before are suddenly made better: colors are crisper, sounds are sharper. It may be summer, but in this space – with trees lining their path, with Nino next to him – the sun's heat is far from Jean's mind. He focuses on Nino's, far more pleasant. He snuggles Nino's arm and sighs contentedly.

"Are you tired?" Nino asks.

"Hmm. Maybe a little. I didn't get a lot of sleep."

"Really?"

Jean presses his face further into Nino's arm so that his words are somewhat muffled. "I was nervous but excited about today."

" _Really_?"

Jean looks up at him, pouting. "Don't sound so amused."

"You're so unflappable that it's surprising to hear," Nino says. He smiles. "But you know, I also didn't sleep much for the same reasons."

It's Jean's turn to be surprised.

"I was aware it didn't make much sense," Nino continues. "I mean, it's not like I was about to meet someone new. And it's not like I didn't know how much I liked you." His free hand idly brushes Jean's bangs aside. "I think it was the change itself in our relationship that made me anxious. I thought things would be different, and I wouldn't know how to act, but..." He trails off, laughing quietly.

"But we didn't really change," Jean says, corners of his lips quirked up.

Nino's smile widens. "Yeah. We didn't."

As they walk, they let the peace of the park settle comfortably between them.

"There's a bench up ahead," Jean says some time later. "Can we sit down?"

"Sure."

It is wrought of wood and iron and overlooks one of the park's lakes, manmade but beautiful. Beyond the trees on the opposite shore, the peaks of the city's skyscrapers jut out, reminding them they've never left home. There are three benches total, only centimeters apart; none are taken, and they sit on the one on the left. Nino drapes his arm over its top. Jean leans on him.

The sun is warm behind them. Jean blinks a little heavier. And then a little heavier still. And then, when he opens his eyes, the sun has dipped lower in the sky.

He sits up, and bumps Nino's head, which had been resting on top of his.

Nino flinches and wakes up.

"Sorry," Jean says. He rubs his eyes. "We fell asleep?"

"Apparently. You feel any more rested?"

"Kind of. You?"

"Same." He stretches. "I could really go for a drink now. You up to it?"

Jean smiles. "You know the answer to that."

Nino reaches for his hand, returning Jean's smile.

Being familiar with the city's bar scene, they already know which one of their favorites is nearby. The summer evening is ripe for wine, so they go to a wine bar, sliding themselves into a booth with a bottle of it, as well as a plate of bread and cheese.

Jean is forgetful, but even he knows this isn't the first time they've drank and eaten at this very table. All that's changed is the little things: not-so-accidental hand brushing, lingering gazes, smiling so often it hurts.

They're still Jean and Nino. All is right.

"More?" Nino asks, grabbing the wine bottle.

Jean shakes his head. He's just finished his second glass and has felt its effects for some time. His flushed, warming skin had made him roll up his sleeves. Another glass, and he'd probably take his shirt off and throw himself at Nino.

Which would not be such a bad idea, part of him drunkenly thinks. It'd be kind of hot. Nino's wearing a button-up shirt. That's easy to remove. They could totally do it.

Nino taps his hand, startling him.

"Huh? What?"

"I asked if you want to go home now. You had a faraway kind of look in your eye, and you've had two glasses of wine. I don't want you to pass out here."

"You could always carry me," Jean replies. "I don't mind that."

The corner of Nino's lip goes up, as does an eyebrow. "Is that your plan here?"

Jean's smile is thick. "It wasn't, but it's starting to sound good, I think."

"You're not worried I could hurt myself carrying you all the way home? It's a long walk."

"Nino," Jean says, expression flattening, "you were once going to throw me at the ocean. And I've seen your muscles. You could carry me holding a sack of sugar while doing a marathon and be fine."

Nino's eyes crinkle as his smile widens. "You have a lot of faith in me."

Jean puts a hand on his cheek, obscuring a smile with his little finger. "Mm-hmm."

Jean waits for Nino to finish his glass, and then they leave. Night has spilled across Badon, black and starless, though the streets are bright with the glow of streetlamps.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry you?" Nino says.

"I'm sure." It would be nice, but he's starting to get drowsy. Being cradled by Nino would definitely make him fall sleep, and he doesn't want to end the night that way. He's looped his arm through Nino's instead, using him as support, as a reminder he is beside him.

A subway ride and short walk later, they stand in front of Jean's building.

"Here we are," Nino says, though he makes no move to untangle himself from Jean.

Jean hums vaguely. It seems too soon to be here.

About a minute passes, and then they both try to speak at the same time. They laugh quietly about it.

"What were you going to say?" Nino asks.

"I forgot."

"You're incorrigible," Nino says, pressing a kiss to the top of Jean's head.

Jean looks up at him. "But you still like me."

"I do," he says, smiling, and in that instant Jean wants nothing more than to kiss him.

So, whirling around to cup Nino's face, he does. And it's clumsy, and it takes Nino by surprise, and it tastes like wine, and it's still somehow perfect.

Jean pulls apart, breathing softly, hands shifting to rest on Nino's chest. Through his lashes he sees Nino is smiling at him, which makes him smile back. He feels Nino put his arms around his waist, drawing him back in, forehead to forehead.

"That was out of nowhere," he teases quietly.

"Do I need a reason to kiss you?"

"No, it just surprised me. I didn't get to kiss you back very well. With that being said," he says, right hand gliding from Jean's waist to his cheek, "I'm going to kiss you now."

Where Jean had moved in a spur-of-the-moment rush of affection, Nino very carefully, very tenderly presses his lips to Jean's. It starts off lightly, but with each passing heartbeat it deepens, and his arm around Jean is all that holds Jean up.

Something bumps Jean's ankle and whines with what is very distinctly a meow.

They glance down, moment broken.

"Hey, it's you again," Nino warmly says to the cat who'd stood guard outside what seems so long ago. He crouches to pet the cat, who eagerly nudges his palm as he scratches its head. "Don't tell me you waited for me to come back."

Jean bends to run a hand across the cat's soft back. _I would have_ , he thinks, answering Nino's question for the cat.

The cat twines between their legs and saunters away, satisfied with being pet.

Nino stands up. "Does it live around here?"

"I don't know," Jean says, straightening up as well. "The first time I saw it was the first time you saw it."

"So it just likes me?"

"I guess." Jean crosses his arms, smiling. "I can see why."

Nino chuckles, and it is drunk up by the night as much as it is by Jean's ears.

"I," Jean says, when silence has fallen, "had a really good time." He briefly bites the inside of his lip. "I couldn't have thought of a better first date with you," he adds, holding on to his own arms a bit tighter.

"I'm relieved to hear that. I kept thinking I would mess something up." Nino smiles. "I also had fun today."

Jean's lip quirks up. "Just today?"

"Tomorrow, too." His voice is solemn. "And when tomorrow becomes today, I'll say the same again."

Jean's arms go around Nino, and he puts his face to his chest. Nino tightly hugs him back. They stay like that for a little while.

"I'll send you and Lotta the pictures I took once I'm home," Nino murmurs.

"Thank you."

"Since you work tomorrow, do you just want to do drinks after your shift?"

"I do."

"Usual time and place?"

Not that Nino can see it, but Jean smiles. "Yeah."

"It's a date, then."

His smile widens. He tilts his head to look up at Nino. "It's a date."

They're wordlessly drawn to each other, sharing one last chaste kiss.

"Goodnight," Nino whispers. "I love you, Jean."

Hearing that is headier than alcohol could ever hope to be. "I love you too, Nino."

"Until tomorrow," Nino says, pulling apart. Only their left hands remain together.

"Until tomorrow," Jean repeats, like the promise that it is. He lets go of Nino to walk up his building's steps. And though he feels empty without him, he knows they'll be together again in every tomorrow that follows.

 


	11. epilogue

Out of the royal escort car's windows, the snowy rustic streets and forests of Dowa leisurely pass them by. Nino can't help but fondly smile at them, remembering a childhood here – and a somber stay as an adult over a year ago. He glances at Jean, the center of this thought and of many others, but he's looking out the window on Lotta's side. Lotta too watches the scenery in delight, as if it's her first time here.

"It all looks straight from a fairytale!" she sighs.

Nino leans forward to address her, as Jean is in the middle. "Would you move here?"

"Hmm, no. It's very pretty, but Badon is home. Is Dowa still home to you, Nino?"

He glances at Jean again, who now catches his eye. They smile at each other. "It's not," Nino replies. "Badon is where my heart is now."

Lotta giggles. "You two are so sappy!"

Jean loops his arm through Nino's, humming a tuneless reply: not quite agreement, not quite disagreement.

The palace, atop its mountain, draws nearer. Nino's heart speeds up, mind going through all the possible ways this meeting could go, most of them ending disastrously. Funny how half a lifetime's worth of maintaining a persona and of adapting to any situation at the behest of the royal family don't appear to help him now. There he will be, truly himself, in front of the king.

Jean kisses his cheek.

Nino blinks himself from his thoughts. "What was that for?"

"You looked like you needed it," Jean says. He gives Nino a knowing smile, an it's-okay-I'm-here-for-you smile.

And Nino wholeheartedly believes in that smile.

They arrive at the palace, dusted prettily with snow. A guardsman opens the car door for them and they file out. Prince Schwan primly stands at the foot of the stairs, looking much more mature than he had in the events over a year past.

"Good morning," he calls out in a clear voice. He looks at Nino a fraction longer than his cousins. "Before breakfast, Grandfather would like to meet with you. Follow me." He crisply turns, ascending the stairs.

Lotta immediately follows. Jean looks at Nino, gives him another loving smile, and walks behind his sister.

 _Here goes_ , Nino thinks, planting his foot on the first step.

He has walked these empty halls before, under the guise of who he used to be. That ghost haunts him now, appearing wherever his eyes land on something familiar: this is the balcony where he photographed Knot, Lotta, and Jean; this other balcony is where Jean escaped the unspoken tension in the room; past that hall is the place he met with Grossular.

And, further in the castle, another ghost comes to him, one he's not seen in decades, and one who is faint due to the palace's renovations since his boyhood. Here was a hall he'd duck into to eat an extra piece of pie. A turn left instead of right would have led to the guards' area, where once Abend had his office, and where Nino's life itself had taken a turn.

"It's easy to get lost here, isn't it?" says Jean in a hushed voice.

"It is," Nino replies just as quietly.

Schwan stops walking, so the three of them do too. "In here," he says, pointing inside a small study.

"Thank you!" Lotta says.

"Don't take too long because I am quite hungry," Schwan says, leaving promptly.

"There's the Schwan I remember," Jean mutters to Nino.

Nino, despite himself, smirks.

Lotta immediately steps inside the study. Jean starts to but stops when he sees Nino has gone very, very still. Because why wouldn't he be, when the king, the man he worked for most of his life, the reason his life ever crossed paths with Jean, the grandfather of the person he loves most, the king, the goddamned _king_ is beyond the open doors?

Jean's hand finds his. A perfect fit, as always. A wordless expression of support.

Nino lightly squeezes Jean's hand. Then he lets go, walking in, breathing in deep.

The king is on a large plush chair. His glasses are balanced on the tip of his nose, a book is flat on his blanket-covered lap. He looks no different than last Nino saw him or than he does in the news, despite being a centenarian. There is a brightness and genuine joy in his small eyes in seeing his long-lost granddaughter talk animatedly in front of him.

When Nino walks in, Lotta wraps up, stepping back to let him take center stage. The king regards him with those kind eyes and an equally kind smile that deepens his wrinkles. He looks like an ordinary grandfather, not one with the weight of a nation and the weight of Nino's past on his shoulders.

"You are Nino, I believe?" he says warmly.

Nino reflexively drops to a knee, puts a fist across his heart. "I am, Your Majesty."

"There is no need for you to do that. Please, rise."

Nino does. He doesn't know what to do with his arms, and folds them behind his back. Jean brushes his palm as he takes his place slightly behind him.

"You and your father did an invaluable service to me for a very long time," the king says. "If anything, it should be me who bows to you. Unfortunately, these old bones won't allow it."

Nino's throat is itchy. _He mentioned Dad_.

"Instead," the king continues, "I hope you will accept my sincerest, most heartfelt thanks." He bows his head. "Thank you, Nino, for bringing my grandchildren to me in pictures, and now in person."

Nino swallows the itch down, all of the air in his lungs leaving him. _The king is bowing to me..._ "I was happy to serve, Your Majesty," he manages to say.

"An invaluable service," the king repeats, raising his head. His eyes twinkle. "But it seems to me you have found something invaluable of your own, as well."

"I have, Your Majesty," Nino says, hoping his face isn't glowing as pink as it feels it is.

"I wish you nothing but happiness." The king smiles. "Now, shall we have breakfast?" He sets the blankets aside and stands with the grace of an aged royal. "I hear you are fond of apple pie. I hope our chef's version is to your liking."

An aid comes in to help him walk. Nino remains on his feet, half dazed.

Jean reaches for his arm. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"The king bowed his head to me," Nino says. "The king got food I like."

"As you deserve."

Nino lets out a shaky exhale.

Jean cups Nino's cheek, gently running his thumb back and forth on his skin. "You did great." A short, sweet kiss. "Let's go eat, okay?"

"Okay," Nino says, closing his eyes. He opens them back up, giving Jean a sincere smile. "Okay."

Hands interlaced, they go back out, where Lotta is already waiting. The palace's high white halls are less cold and lonely when they are by each other's side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL this took months but i did it yall. to the 5 of u who still care enough about the ninojeans to have clicked on this fic, and then to make it all the way thru....... ur the real mvps


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